


Flaming

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Dark Flames [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abelism, Alternate Universe - Dark, Disability, Emotional Manipulation, Food Deprivation, M/M, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slurs, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, dark!glorfindel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2020-09-06 10:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 38
Words: 51,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20289826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Glorfindel believes in justice, in letting the law decide things. But sometimes, he just wants revenge.A dark story where Glorfindel and Maeglin survive Gondolin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read the trigger tags, please!
> 
> If this looks familiar, it's because I posted it yesterday then took it down to revise the ending of the first chapter a bit.

They’d put him in the smallest, most inhospitable cell they could find.

No one knew what to do with him, with Turgon dead, he was - by law - the next king.

But no one would bow to a murderer.

So the survivors had captured him, dragging him along with them, and when they’d reached Sirion he’d been thrown to the darkness.

He didn’t look up when Glorfindel entered, didn’t even try to move.Not that he could have, they’d put enough chains on him that the metal most likely weighed more than he did. The only light in the room was from the candle Glorfindel had brought, and it barely illuminated anything at all. Maeglin was only a shadow, curled on the floor in the corner.

But elves didn’t need candles to see in the dark.

He dropped a bag into the corner and strode forward to loom over Maeglin.

Finally, after an eternity, Maeglin looked up at him. “Have you come to bring my supper?” He asked, his eyes haughty. “I’m ravenous.”

“I should let you starve,” Glorfindel replied, kneeling in front of Maeglin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an apple he’d brought. “I should eat this in front of you.”

“I’m not going to beg.”

“You will,” Glorfindel said. “But not for this. Letting you starve would be kinder than you deserve.”

He pulled a knife from his belt, and Maeglin almost flinched back, but he didn’t use it on the smith, instead cutting a slice from the apple. “If you bite me,” he said, bringing the fruit slice to Maeglin’s lips, “I’ll break your teeth.”

Either he was hungry enough to agree, or afraid of losing his teeth. Either way, Maeglin allowed himself to be fed. He made Maeglin eat the entire thing, core and all, and he couldn’t help but feel smug at how Maeglin licked his lips desperately after each bite.

When he had finished, Glorfindel stood. “Now that that’s out of the way, we can talk.”

Maeglin said nothing.

“Very well.” Glorfindel fetched the bag he’d brought with him, then unhooked Maeglin’s chains from the wall, using them to drag him across the room. He pushed Maeglin up against the wall, securing his wrists and ankles, then used his knife to make short work of his clothes.

“What are you doing?” Maeglin snarled.

“Debating if I’m going to cut off your cock and shove it up your own ass or not.”

Maeglin’s shoulders tensed, but he said nothing.

“No pleas?”

“I doubt it would change your mind.”

“No. It wouldn’t.” Glorfindel pulled a stool over and sat behind Maeglin, staring at his back, his knife on his knees. “I’m going to make you suffer for everything you’ve done to Gondolin.”

“This isn’t justice,” Maeglin hissed, wriggling in his bonds until he could see over his shoulder and meet Glorfindel’s gaze. “I haven’t had a trial. Even my father had that.”

“No. It’s not. It's revenge.” He slapped Maeglin’s back. “Now, if you’re going to talk, I might be convinced to be a bit more gentle.”

“I doubt it.”

Another slap. They weren’t intended to hurt, just to remind Maeglin who was in control. “Why?”

“Because I hate you all.”

“It was for her, wasn’t it?”

Maeglin said nothing. Glorfindel laughed. “They wouldn’t have given her to you, you know. He’s not called the deceiver for nothing.”

“Just get this over with,” Maeglin snarled.

Glorfindel shrugged. “Your choice.” He picked up the candle he’d brought with him and held it against the back of Maeglin’s leg.

The smith tensed. “I’m not afraid of a little fire,” he snarled. Glorfindel remained silent, still holding the candle.

“You know, I think you’re right. This isn’t enough.” He grabbed the metal stool he’d been sitting on and carried it into the corner. Using Maeglin’s clothes as kindling, he started a fire underneath it, then returned to the smith’s side.

Maeglin gave him a quizzical look.

“I think,” Glorfindel said, reaching back into his bag. “That it’s only fair that we retain the element of surprise. After all, Gondolin had no warning of its doom.”

He secured a blindfold over Maeglin’s eyes, then cupped his chin, pushing his lips against Maeglin’s ear. “Perhaps I’ll rip your eyes out.”

“My cock. My eyes. You’ve made a lot of threats,” Maeglin hissed. “But you’ve yet to follow through on them.”

“I’m enjoying the suspense.”

“I’m not frightened.”

Glorfindel picked up his knife and knelt behind Maeglin. “I’m not going to whip you. At least, not your back. Do you know why?”

“I shuttered to imagine it.”

“Because I’m going to ensure you are permanently marked with your crimes.” With that, he pushed his knife into Maeglin’s skin.

The dark elf didn’t flinch as he slowly carved words into his back, even as the blood began to trickle down his thighs. “Do you want to know what it is?”

“I imagine you’re going to tell me.”

“It’s a map of Gondolin,” Glorfindel said. A part of him almost felt sick at the way the light glittered off the blood, but then he remembered everything that Maeglin had done, and he kept working, more determined than ever.

He finished his map without a word from Maeglin, although the other’s breathing now came in short gasps and tremors ran along his body. He stepped back, admiring his handiwork, then glanced at the fire in the corner.

It was burning happily, heating the metal of the chair, but he wasn’t ready for it yet.

Instead, he stood and shrugged off his tunic, then stepped forward until his stomach was pressed against Maeglin’s back.

“You’re getting my blood all over you.”

“You can lick it off later,” Glorfindel said dismissively. He ran his hands down Maeglin’s back, tracing the wounds with his nails. Then he brought his hands to rest on Maeglin’s ass, his thumbs spreading his cheeks to expose his hole.

Maeglin stiffened.

“Nothing to say?” Glorfindel asked, using one hand to pull himself free of his breeches.

“I never saw you as a rapist.”

“I never saw you as a murderer.” He considered for a moment if he should try bribing Maeglin: an apology in exchange for stretching him first. But he decided against it. Any apology from Maeglin would be fake, and stretching him defeated the point of the punishment.

Instead, he gave Maeglin no time to prepare before he breached him.

Maeglin cried out, the loudest noise Glorfindel had gotten out of him so far. “Scream all you want,” he said into his ear, biting at his neck. “No one gives a damn about you.”

He pulled out only momentarily before thrusting back in, slamming Maeglin roughly against the wall. “I half expected to find you already used when I came in here,” he whispered into Maeglin’s ear. “It seems I’m the first to demand retribution, but I doubt I’ll be the last. Should I put out an open invitation? They’d line up to get their hands on you.”

Maeglin whined, perhaps it was a plea for Glorfindel to spare him, but it may have just been because of the pain in his ass.

Either way, Glorfindel kept up his brutal pace.

Maeglin’s own cock was flaccid, and he briefly considered jerking him off just to humiliate him but decided against it.

He had all the time in the world for that, after all.

By the time he came, Maeglin was gasping for breath, and the only thing holding him up was his chains. Glorfindel pulled his hips back tightly, forcing every drop of seed into his body. He kept them pulled tightly together as he fumbled with Maeglin’s chains, releasing him from the wall.

Immediately the smaller elf was limp against him.

He pulled them both to the ground, fumbling in his bag until he found what he wanted. Maeglin was too weak to pull away, so as he searched he brought his other hand up to pull off the blindfold.

He wanted to make sure Maeglin saw what he was about to do.

Slowly Glorfindel held up the monstrous toy in front of Maeglin and let the smith’s eyes widen in terror. He’d whittled it himself out of wood, and hadn’t bothered with polishing it. If it left splinters, it would be what Maeglin deserved.

“It won’t fit,” Maeglin rasped, still too weak to even pull himself off Glorfindel’s cock. 

“Don’t worry,” Glorfindel said, dropping a mocking kiss onto Maeglin’s cheek. “I can get it in.”

He pulled out of Maeglin and - before his seed could leak out - crammed in the toy.

Maeglin let out a keening wail.

Glorfindel stood, leaving him a dirty mess on the floor. For good measure, he landed a kick between Maeglin’s legs and the elf gasped.

He dressed slowly, then knelt beside Maeglin. He pointed to the chair with the fire flickering merrily under it. “I was planning to make you sit on that.”

His eyes widened, but he still remained silent, determined not to beg.

“But I’ve decided I want you a bit more intact. I’m going to let it cool a bit first. Then you’re going to sit in that chair, with the plug, until the next time I want you.”

“I hate you,” Maeglin hissed.

“Not as much as I hate you.”

Maeglin was still too weak to do anything, so Glorfindel left him on the floor as he moved the chair away from the fire. As it cooled, he unpacked his bag.

The prisoner’s eyes darted back and forth between Glorfindel and the chair, his body trembling. But he remained silent, even as Glorfindel laid out the various instruments he’d gathered.

When he was done, he checked the chair. Deciding it was cool enough for his purposes, he grabbed Maeglin and drug him to his feet, pulling him to the chair.

Then he forced him to sit.

Maeglin let out a cry as the heated metal burned against his already abused flesh. Glorfindel used Maeglin’s chains to secure him to the chair, then he brushed Maeglin’s hair from his face and sat on the smith’s thighs.

Maeglin winced at the weight and gritted his jaw in an attempt to keep silent.

“This is going to continue, every day until you beg me for forgiveness.”

“I won’t.”

“Then I will keep you forever.”

Maeglin looked up at him, his eyes narrowed. “I will never beg you.”

Glorfindel just shrugged. “I am busy for the rest of the day. I may have time for you tomorrow, but it may be a few days until I make it back. As I am the only one who has permission to be in this corridor, you’ll have plenty of time to think about your actions.”

Then he stood and strode from the room.


	2. Chapter 2

He left him for several days.

By the time Glorfindel returned, Maeglin was mostly dead, slumped into the chair. He lifted his head, but he didn’t seem to have the strength for anger.

Glorfindel brought another stool with him and a tray of food. He sat down and laid the tray across his lap. “I’m willing to share,” he said, after a pause. “If you’re willing to behave.”

“Get this thing out of me.” His voice was barely above a whisper, too hoarse from lack of use or water.

Glorfindel smiled. “I’ve spent the last few days thinking about what I wanted to do to you,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “We’ve had countless meetings, mostly about what to do with the refugees, but your name has come up a few times.”

Maeglin grit his jaw and said nothing.

“There’s been a suggestion of taking off your head. But they decided that was too kind.” He sipped from the wine he had brought, still watching Maeglin without comment. “We executed Salgant.”

Maeglin still didn’t react.

“I did it. Would you like to hear about it?”

“I’d like you to take this thing out of me.”

Glorfindel set the tray aside, leaning forward. He ran one finger across Maeglin’s stomach. “I cut him right across here, just through the flesh mind you, and let his entrails fall onto the floor. He bled out unfortunately quickly.”

“Salgant was a fool.”

Glorfindel picked up his wine again, taking another sip. “Our new king is- well he’s a bit overwhelmed. He will do anything to secure the remaining strength of Gondolin, and since I am the only lord _fortunate_ enough to survive, he asked me what I wanted.”

Maeglin shifted uncomfortably.

“He was happy to grant me you.” He smiled and held the wine out to Maeglin. “Cheers.”

Although he seemed surprised to be offered the drink, he opened his mouth and let Glorfindel tip it down his throat willingly. When it was gone, Glorfindel drew it back, then settled back into his chair, pulling the tray back into his lap. “Another king gift from our king: this house.” He gestured above them, to where the public rooms where. “Fortunate isn’t it? I can keep you here in my basement.”

Still, Maeglin remained silent, although his eyes locked on the food in Glorfindel’s lap. “We are on Balar if you didn’t know. It’s an island, fully populated by people who hate you just as much as I, so don’t go planning an escape.”

He paused, then slowly cut into the meat on his plate. “I might be tempted to share, you know.”

“Please?” Maeglin looked horrified with himself for asking, but he didn’t back down, still staring at the meal.

“All you had to do was ask.” lifted a small piece of meat to Maeglin’s lips, and the other gobbled it down. “Now what do we say when someone gives us something, hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“Well, your tone doesn’t say it, but I suppose this is an improvement.”

Glorfindel slowly fed him, forcing him to say thank you after each bite, almost seeming amused by the growing malice in Maeglin’s eyes. When the food was gone, he set the tray aside and reached out to run his hand through Maeglin’s hair.

“You are filthy,” he said softly.

“I wonder why,” Maeglin snapped.

“And here I was going to offer you a bath.”

The prisoner stilled, his head lifting quickly. “Bath?” Then he caught himself, reminded himself he didn’t want to be in Glorfindel’s debt, and sneered, “I don’t want it.”

“Well then, we’ll have to wash you here.”

He walked to the other end of the room, where there was a spigot, and opened the tap, filling the bucket that sat on the floor beside him. Then he returned to Maeglin’s side and dumbed the freezing water over his head.

Maeglin gasped.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a warm bath?”

The dark elf was starting to shake, as freezing from the water already. “I would,” he snarled after a moment. “_Please_.”

Glorfindel unchained him from the wall, and, predictably, Maeglin fell forward, too weak to hold himself up. Unperturbed, Glorfindel picked him, slung him over his shoulder with his ass in the air, and walked from the room.

He wiggled the plug as he walked, and Maeglin cried out, kicking his legs weakly. “Take it out,” he pleaded. “Glor-”

A smack landed on Maeglin’s backside. “You will refer to me as _My Lord_, and nothing else.”

Across the hall there was a bath waiting, steam rising off the surface. Glorfindel dropped Maeglin onto a table, grinning when he fell on his sore backside. “Take it out,” he pleaded again.

“Lay on your back, legs on either side of the table.”

It took Maeglin several moments to position himself, struggling against his weak muscles, but he finally got himself positioned how Glorfindel wanted him.

The lord took ahold of the base of the plug and twisted it slowly, watching pain flick across Maeglin’s face. Then he pulled it out.

A mixture of semen and blood tricked out of his abused hole. 

“What do you say?”

Maeglin remained silent until Glorfindel lined the plug up, as though he was going to reinsert it, then he snarled, “Thank you, _my lord_.”

“Very good.” Without another word, he lifted Maeglin and plunged him into the tub.

He cried out when the heat splashed across his wounds, but when he tried to struggle out, Glorfindel pushed him in. “Now,” Glorfindel said, holding him so that only he head was above the water. “You’ve gotten my shirt all wet. Are you proud of yourself?”

“Yes.”

He tutted. “That will be five strokes once we’ve finished here.”

“Make it six for all I care.”

“Seven then.”

Maeglin shut his mouth. Glorfindel gave him a cool smile. He took ahold of Maeglin’s ankles and pulled them to each side, placing them on the edge of the tub. “Keep your arms here. If they move, I will add to your punishment.”

“How am I supposed to bathe if I can’t move?”

“I will take care of that.”

Maeglin’s look of horror was enough to make him grin. Glorfindel stripped out of his shirt and another gasp from his prisoner reminded him that he hadn’t been visible to the elf the day before.

Horrific scars, remnants of his fight with the Balrog, twisted across his chest. “Take a good look,” he told Maeglin as he slipped out of his pants. “This was your doing.”

Maeglin looked away.

Glorfindel stepped into the tub, pulling Maeglin’s legs so that they wrapped around his waist. The smith stiffened.

“No, no,” Glorfindel said dismissively. “Not now.”

Maeglin flinched every time Glorfindel touched him, but each time his touches remained gentle, almost loving. “What are you doing?” he hissed, gripping the edges of the tub as though his life depended on it. “Why are you so gentle?”

“I’ve realized something,” Glorfindel said, running the washrag down Maeglin’s arm.

“That you don’t enjoy torture?”

“Not quite.” He moved the rag lower and Maeglin stiffened, but he only rubbed it over his stomach. “Initially, my plans were to return here today, take you outside, and tell the survivors to have their fun with you.” He slowly cleaned around Maeglin’s balls, then slipped back toward his abused hole. But still he didn’t enter him, just rubbed the burned flesh around it. “But then I decided, I’d rather keep you to myself.”

“I’m not your property.”

“As far as the king is concerned, you are.”

Maeglin’s eyes narrowed, but Glorfindel only said, “Turn over, let me clean your back. The cloth caught on every ragged bit of flesh as Glorfindel cleaned him, but Maeglin welcomed it, hoping it would prevent infections. He set the rag aside.

Then his hand slipped beneath the water, and fingers slid inside Maeglin. The smith hissed.

“Hush.” Glorfindel felt inside of him, and once he was confident that there weren’t any splinters, he took his hand back out.

“Now your hair.” He dunked Maeglin’s head underwater and scrubbed his hair, then lifted him back up again, holding him against his chest. Maeglin struggled briefly, but Glorfindel slid a hand under the water to pinch his abused anus and he stilled. 

“Do you know how many died in Gondolin?”

The smith shook his head.

“Five thousand, give or take a few hundred.” He frowned. “We don’t have an exact count yet.” He smiled, pinching the burned flesh on Maeglin’s inner thigh. “Once we’ve finished counting, I’m going to get a list of their names, you’re going to read them aloud while I whip you.”

“I don’t care.”

He plunged Maeglin's head underwater, but that time he held him under the smith was nearly dead, only pulling him back up at the last minute. As Maeglin gasped for breath, Glorfindel stepped from the tub and dressed, then pulled Maeglin out after him.

He carried Maeglin back to his cell, chaining him to the wall again so that he was nearly immobile.

“You owe me seven strikes,” he said, stepping back to look at Maeglin. “And I do hate to let you stay in my debt.”

Maeglin remained quiet as Glorfindel picked up a thin leather strap, running it over his hands. “I’d hate to damage your back, so your stomach will have to do.” He smiled. “Or perhaps just your hand. Do you have a preference?”

“No.”

“Spread the fingers of your right hand, hold it flat against the wall. If it moves, I’ll make it ten.”

Maeglin obeyed, knowing that arguing would only bring him more pain. The first strike caught him by surprise and he gasped out loud. For the second he bit his lip. By the third, his tooth drew blood. When the fourth landed, his fingers started to shake. After the fifth, his hand curled inward as he lost the strength to hold it out anymore.

Glorfindel landed the five remaining strikes across his stomach. Then he tossed the strip aside and laid a mocking kiss on Maeglin’s fingers.“I could leave you unchained,” he offered, kneeling down in front of him so that their eyes met.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Maeglin snarled. Then he spat in Glorfindel’s face.

The reaction was instantaneous. Glorfindel backhanded him, then pinned him to the wall by his throat. As Maeglin struggled for breath, the Lord of the Golden Flower hissed, “You know, I was almost going to walk out this door without playing anymore.”

He waited until Maeglin was nearly blacked out, then released his neck. The smith fell forward, gasping for breath, and Glorfindel stepped away. When he returned, Maeglin’s mouth was still open, gasping for air, and he crammed in a gag before the other could fight back. It held Maeglin’s jaw open, preventing him from biting.

“You have a filthy mouth,” he whispered, lips against Maeglin’s ear. “But I suppose it’s good for something.”

Maeglin struggled, but there was nothing he could do as Glorfindel loosened his pants. But when the golden elf slid his dick through the gag, he didn’t seem interested in getting sexual gratification.

Instead, he urinated directly into Maeglin’s throat.

When the smaller elf realized what was happened, he struggled, but there was nothing he could do. As Glorfindel removed himself he held Maeglin’s head back so that none of the urine leaked out.

“Swallow,” he ordered.

Maeglin glared at him.

“Swallow or you can wear the plug again.”

Maeglin swallowed, a look of disgust on his face.

Glorfindel released him and tucked himself back into his pants as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “You can keep the gag,” he said, turning for the door. “Who knows, I may need to relieve myself again.”


	3. Chapter 3

For the next week, it was soldiers that visited Maeglin.

They came at odd hours, forcing food down his throat and checking his wounds. None of them attempted to take advantage of him, but that didn’t make being naked in front of them any easier.

One of them forced him to eat until he felt sick, then crammed fingers down his throat until he threw up. After that, he was unchained and ordered to lick the bile from the floor. When he refused, they rubbed his face in it and then chained him back to the wall, still covered in his own sick.

But he refused to speak to any of them.

Maeglin kept his head high through their visits, meeting their contemptuous gazes with equal hate, and reviled in the fact that Glorfindel had clearly ordered them not to torture or rape him.

Finally, after nearly a week of misery, two soldiers entered the cell. They unchained him, drug him across the hall where a cold bath awaited him, then stood by as he cleaned himself.

Then he was dressed in a loose-fitting robe and drug back across the hall. They pushed him into a kneeling position and chained him to the floor. A gag was wrapped through his mouth, but it was only a leather strap. Then he was left alone again.

* * *

Glorfindel pushed open the door and then stepped aside, bowing. “Your highness.”

Slowly Gil-Galad stepped into the cell, looking at the miserable lump on the floor. “I expected a monster,” he confessed finally.

“He is,” Glorfindel replied. “He murdered a city.”

Gil-Galad crouched in front of him. Maeglin tried to growl, but all that came out was a soft grunt. “What would he do if I took out the gag?”

“Curse at you, most likely.”

Seeming entranced, the High King carefully unbuckled the gag and pulled it away. Maeglin lunged forward and tried to bite, but Glorfindel had pulled Gil-Galad back in time.

“I hate you!” Maeglin hissed. “I hope Melkor kills you.”

The king turned interested eyes on the golden elf. “What are you going to do to him?” Somehow, he didn’t seem to care what happened to Maeglin at all. It was just a test to see what Glorfindel did and how he responded.

Glorfindel shrugged. “I have yet to follow through on my threat of cutting off his cock and shoving it up his ass. Perhaps I should.” Maeglin snarled, but a glance from Glorfindel quieted him. It seemed he was finally learning.

A grin quirked at the edge of the high king’s lips. “From what I recall, the stories say that is your favorite part of a man.”

Glorfindel sneered. “He’s not a man. And besides, I prefer his ass.”

Gil-Galad didn’t seem bothered. “He needs to be seen. Or heard. Word of his torment needs to get out. People want to hear that he’s suffered. If they think he’s just being held, they may revolt.”

“I will parade him naked through the streets if you wish.”

“I won’t-” Maeglin began, but Glorfindel cut him off with a kick.

“That may be excessive, although I will let you know if my thoughts on the matter change.” Gil-Galad looked at Maeglin once last time before saying, “Punish him for attacking his king, then bring him to me.” With that, he strode from the cell, leaving Glorfindel and Maeglin alone. So it was a test. If he wanted to keep Maeglin, he had to prove he could discipline him.

The two stared at one another for several long moments, then Maeglin hissed, “I am not afraid of you.”

“I am well aware.”

“What are you going to do?” Maeglin managed to hide the fear from his voice, but Glorfindel could read his body language enough to know he had flinched back.

“Break you.” He stepped forward, looking down at Maeglin with thoughtful eyes. One hand ran slowly over Maeglin’s head, petting his dark hair, fingers wrapping in it.

Coming back around to stand in front of Maeglin, he smiled. “I know what to do with you.”

With that, he summoned two guards, who grabbed Maeglin and pulled him to his feet. They roughly took him from his cell, following Glorfindel through the house and outside, into a smithy. The smith’s eyes traveled around the smithy curiously, taking in the familiar sights.

“Do you feel at home, Maeglin?” Glorfindel asked curiously, gesturing around him. “This was meant for you, you know.” He patted the anvil that sat in the middle of the room, and the soldiers pulled Maeglin up to it. “I told the king that one day you might smith for him again,” Glorfindel said, looking down at Maeglin, defiant and angry between the two soldiers who were holding him.

“I will never create for him,” Maeglin snarled. “Unless it was to put a fatal flaw in his armor.”

Glorfindel smiled, resting his hands on the anvil and leaning forward to look at Maeglin. “Never?” he asked. “That’s a very long time, and we are immortal you know.”

“Why would he even trust me?”

“You would be under guard, of course. Or maybe I will just break you of your annoying habits, either way, that is the plan for you.”

Maeglin glared but kept his mouth shut. Glorfindel smiled, a cruel expression creeping onto his face. “It seems to me that you don’t need both feet intact to do that.”

Fear filled his eyes. “No!”

“Bring him forward. His right foot, I think.”

They pulled Maeglin forward easily, as though he wasn’t kicking and flailing, and lifted his foot, setting it on the anvil. For a moment, Maeglin looked as though he might beg, then he squeezed his eyes shut and looked away.

“You will watch,” Glorfindel told him, striding to pick up a hammer. “Or I will break both your feet.”

Slowly Maeglin opened his eyes, forcing himself to look back at Glorfindel, then down at his own foot, lying helpless on the anvil.

Then the hammer fell down.

Even outside the smithy, people heard his scream, and they watched with interested as the guards dragged him into the street. He hung limply between them as they followed Glorfindel up the road to the palace.

Gil-Galad had stopped in the street, talking with passerby, and he looked at Maeglin and gave Glorfindel a nod. With that, the elf ordered Maeglin taken back to his cell.


	4. Chapter 4

Glorfindel stepped into the cell, setting a lantern on the table in front of him and a bucket on the floor beside him. “Maeglin,” he said softly.

They hadn’t bothered chaining him when they’d brought him back after breaking his foot, but he’d curled into the corner anyway. When Glorfindel spoke he looked up, anger flashing in his eyes.

“Ice water,” he said, pointing to the bucket. “For your foot.”

But Maeglin didn’t move, mistrust evident in his eyes. “What will I owe you?” he rasped.

Glorfindel smiled. “Smart boy.” He pulled a chair next to the bucket, then sat down, tapping his foot on the ground. “Crawl to me. Kiss my feet and beg.”

“No.”

“Shall I break your other foot?”

Slowly Maeglin uncurled himself, pulling his body across the floor, he shakily pressed a kiss to Glorfindel’s boot. “Please. My foot hurts.”

“Do better.”

Maeglin groaned, pressing more kisses to Glorfindel’s feet, daring to lick his boot. “My lord, I beg of you.”

Glorfindel leaned over and lifted Maeglin into his lap, helping him guide his foot into the bucket of water. He hissed in pain when the cool feeling took over, but after a moment he relaxed.

He had to admit a part of him enjoyed seeing Maeglin so broken, so dependent. Before the fall of Gondolin, Maeglin would never have lowered himself to sitting in anyone’s lap, no matter how much pain he was in.

But with his broken foot soaking in cold water, he leaned back into Glorfindel as if he were the most comfortable chair in the world.

“Will I ever walk again?” he whimpered.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Glorfindel scolded, kicking the bucket. Maeglin gasped. “You’ll walk - with a limp I imagine - but you will walk.”

Maeglin nodded.

Glorfindel drew an apple from his pocket, and, as he had the first time he had visited Maeglin in his cell, he slowly fed it to him, bit by bit. Maeglin didn’t need to be told what to do, he thanked him between each bite.

Once Maeglin had finished eating they fell into silence. The golden lord wrapped one arm around Maeglin’s stomach, pulling him closer, and Maeglin remained still. “What a good boy,” Glorfindel purred. “If I had known what an improvement it would make, I would have broken your foot long ago.”

“Please don’t break the other one.”

“Shhh. I won’t,” he paused, then nipped Maeglin’s ear. “As long as you behave.”

After several more minutes of silence, Maeglin finally ventured, “May I ask a question?” Glorfindel cleared his throat and nudged the bucket. “My lord,” Maeglin amended quickly.

“You may.”

“When may I return to the forge?”

Glorfindel laughed. “So ready to return, even after what I’ve done to you, Maeglin?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I haven’t decided,” he said finally. “I’ve been thinking a lot of late about my plans for your future, but I’ve been far too busy to give them much attention.”

Maeglin nodded, but he seemed to be struggling. After a few more minutes, Glorfindel stood, but he let Maeglin sit back in the chair, his foot still soaking in the water.

He pulled the foot from the bucket, surveying the damage. It appeared flattened, and slightly curved, but it was difficult to tell with all the swelling. He dropped his foot back into the bucket.

“I will return tomorrow.” Then he left the room without another word.

It became routine. Glorfindel would come to his cell, offer him the ice water, then make him crawl or beg. Each time, Maeglin did whatever he had to, desperate for any for of relief.

He brought food with him, somedays more than others, and would make Maeglin thank him as he fed him. There was something enjoyable about the way Maeglin would almost growl with each thanks, as though tempting Glorfindel to punish him.

But he didn’t.

At first, it was just enough to humiliate him, forcing the once proud elf to rely on him for food and assistance. But one day, nearly a week after Maeglin’s foot was broken, Glorfindel entered the cell, already angry. Water splashed from the bucket as he sat it carelessly on the ground, then stomped to grab Maeglin, dragging him across the room to the chair. When he pulled Maeglin into his lap, he forced the other to face him, straddling his hips.

“My lord-”

“Hush.” He pulled at Maeglin’s pants, trying to lower them, but when that failed, he ripped through the thin material.

Maeglin grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to steady himself, but Glorfindel twisted his arms behind his back and tied them with a leather strip he drew from his pocket.

Another he wrapped another through Maeglin’s mouth, gagging him.

Then his hands found Maeglin’s anus.

With his hands tied and one foot rendered useless, he couldn’t pull away as an oil slicked finger pressed inside him. “See?” Glorfindel asked mockingly. “I can be a considerate lover.”

Maeglin tried to say something, but the gag muffled it.

“Would you prefer I didn’t stretch you?” The protests halted.

He stretched him quickly, talking the entire time. “We had another meeting today, we do most days of course, but today’s was particularly taxing.” He paused, two fingers pressing into Maeglin, then pinched the soft skin at the edge of his hole, digging in his nails.

A whine rewarded him.

“I had initially planned to retire to my rooms with a glass of wine, but then I remembered that I had the perfect stress relief, already waiting for me.”

He finished stretching him quickly, and yet it seemed it still burned when he pressed himself inside. Maeglin’s cries were muffled by the gag, but Glorfindel still reviled in them. “Cry you monster,” he snarled into his shoulder, biting his neck.

For a long moment he remained still, then he lifted Maeglin by his hips and slammed him back down. Then he met Maeglin’s eyes. “Fuck yourself.”

The smith snarled.

“I mean it.” Again teeth ripped at his neck. “Fuck yourself on my cock, and I had best enjoy it.”

Maeglin seemed to understand what he wanted, and he struggled to lift himself off Glorfindel’s lap. But without his hands and only one foot he could brace on the floor, it was a difficult task.

Glorfindel snarled and stood, remaining sheathed in Maeglin, pulling them both to the floor. Maeglin’s injured foot brushed the ground and he gasped, tightening around the cock that was buried inside him. 

He arranged Maeglin so that he could kneel on either side of Glorfindel’s lap, then grabbed him by his hair, tilting his head back to expose more of his throat.

“Fuck yourself or I will fuck you with my knife.”

Pressing his knees into the ground, Maeglin slowly lifted himself, then lowered back down. His effort was rewarded with a bite and a snarl of “Continue.”

Glorfindel wished he could see more of Maeglin’s face as the smaller elf did as he was told, but with his face in his neck he could only imagine. He hoped he was as humiliated as he sounded going by the whines that were escaping him.

After a few more of Maeglin’s attempts at thrusting, he tilted the elf’s head back, meeting his eyes. Pain was written across Maegin’s face, but his eyes were full of defiance. “I suppose you were starting to forget, since I’ve been so kind to you of late,” Glorfindel hissed. “But its time for you to remembered.”

His hand slipped between them, to where Maeglin’s cock lay limp. He started to stroke it, timing it with Maeglin’s weak thrusts.

The captive let out a muffled gasp, his eyes widening. His movements stilled.

“Keep moving,” Glorfindel reminded him. “I’m barely enjoying this.”

But it seemed he’d had enough or at least thought he had. Maeglin remained stubbornly still, glowering at Glorfindel.

“Fine.”

Glorfindel set the pace after that, and with each thrust, Maeglin grunted. He didn’t continue stroking Maeglin’s cock, but he hit his prostate enough that his erection didn’t flag. “You are nothing now,” he hissed into the smith’s ear. “No better than a common brothel whore.”

“Perhaps that’s what I should do, tie you to a bed and let men line up for your ass.” He sunk his teeth into Maeglin’s neck again, and the elf cried out around his gag. “There would be a line such that they would keep you busy for days, using you until there was nothing left of your defiance.”

Maeglin head-butted Glorfindel, as though to remind him he still had his defiance. In retaliation, Glorfindel grabbed his wounded foot.

The smith spasmed in pain, clenching his asshole, and that was enough for Glorfindel to climax.

Once he had regained control of himself, he lifted Maeglin, untied his wrists, and shoved him onto his back. “Finish yourself,” he ordered, running a finger up the underside of Maeglin’s cock.

Maeglin shook his head.

All Glorfindel had to do was reach for his foot, and Maeglin’s hands flew to his own cock.

As Maeglin stroked himself, Glorfindel wiped himself off and returned his own penis to his pants. After a brief time, Maeglin’s face twisted in humiliation and he came.

Glorfindel stepped away from him, picking up the bucket of ice water. Maeglin seemed hopeful, his eyes tracking him. But instead of offering it to Maeglin, he dumped it over his head.

As the cold water splashed over him Maeglin whined, shivers running down his body.

Glorfindel kicked him one last time, then left him shaking on the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

For several weeks, Glorfindel didn’t visit Maeglin.

He had reports from the servants he sent to feed him that Maeglin was still alive, but it seemed he was still suffering. All he was granted was food, meaning that his foot was left unattended and he was without a blanket or warmer clothes as the seasons changed.

Finally, he sent word that he wanted Maeglin brought to him. “Blindfold him. Make him walk if he can. Drag him if he won’t.”

They had to drag him.

Either Maeglin was still injured or just stubborn. It was the first time Maeglin had been outside of the basement since they’d thrown him there, but he hardly seemed grateful for the experience.

They brought Maeglin to his office, and Glorfindel sat aside the reports he had been working on, struggling to find enough resources to keep the island surviving. He pointed wordlessly to a chair and they dropped Maeglin into it, then left.

“How is your foot?”

“It hurts.” Maeglin shifted slightly, as though trying to detect where he was.

“Good.” Glorfindel leaned back in his chair. “How’s your ass?”

Maeglin said nothing.

The blonde sighed and stood. “I’ve decided you’re a drain on resources,” he said, running his finger over the lines of writing. “So you’re going to have to make your pathetic existence worthwhile.”

“I won’t.”

He finally reached Maeglin, running his hand through the smith’s tangled hair. Dust and dirt drifted through the air. “Here is my plan.”

“No.”

“I’m rather short on servants, which is understandable since you murdered most of them, so I thought I might as well put you to use in that regard.”

“I am a prince.”

Glorfindel moved quickly, his hand tightening around Maeglin’s throat. “You are my property.” The smith spluttered, struggling for air. “Or, if that isn’t enough for you, you will spend each evening in the public square. Two hours each day would be enough to pay your debts.”

He released his fingers. Maeglin gasped for a moment, then finally spit out, “Doing what?”

Glorfindel shrugged. “I can’t begin to say. Anyone who wanted a part of you could have you, so long as they didn’t kill you.” He leaned closer, looming menacingly over Maeglin and enjoying the fear on the other’s face as he said, “I wonder how many you could take at once. Two in your ass, one down your throat? Or perhaps they would just want to skin you.”

Maeglin grit his teeth. “I will serve you.”

“What do you call me?”

“I will serve you, _my lord_.”

He patted Maeglin’s head. “I’m glad we could agree on this.” With that, he pulled off Maeglin’s blindfold and took several steps away. “Walk to me.”

In his chair, Maeglin stiffened. “I cannot, sir.” His eyes darted around the room, taking in the features, studying the bare walls and sparse furnishing. But he also examined the space between the two of them.

“You will,” Glorfindel said firmly. “Or I will beat you again.”

“You are going to me beat me either way.” Hastily he added, “my lord.”

Glorfindel smiled. “Good. You are learning.” He stepped back toward Maeglin, leaning so that their eyes met. “I am going to hurt you often, but your actions will determine the frequency and severity.” He straightened again. “Stand up, lean on the chair if you must.”

It took Maeglin a moment to struggle to his feet, but he managed, clinging to the chair as if his life depended on it.

“Now tell me, is the problem your foot or are your muscles weak from disuse?” It was hard to tell which it was from where he was standing.

“I believe my foot is healed, but it still aches,” Maeglin said after a pause. “But I am unused to free movement. My lord.”

“I am told you moved around in your cell.”

The guards had reported that Maeglin had done his best to keep what he could of his body in shape, mostly by exercising his torso and arms. “I walked partway here, my lord.” He paused, then added, “With assistance.”

Glorfindel nodded. “You will continue strengthening yourself. Today you will walk across this room. Tomorrow a bit further, and so on and so forth.” He let Maeglin consider his words for a moment, then added, “If you fail in your tasks there will be consequences.”

Maeglin shivered. “My lord, I _cannot_. Not now.”

“You will and I will reward you.” Glorfindel leaned against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. “If you fail, I will beat you.”

Maeglin took a shaky step forward, then another. He stumbled on the third but kept his footing. On the fourth he was halfway to Glorfindel, his eyes narrowed with concentration, sweat beading on his brow.

“Please, my lord.”

The golden lord supposed he might as well reward Maeglin for sinking to the level of begging. Glorfindel stepped forward until he was just out of Maeglin’s reach. “One more step,” he coaxed.

Maeglin practically fell into his arms. Glorfindel’s nose wrinkled.

“Have I mentioned your stench?” he asked after a moment, glancing down at the crumpled mess of an elf. “We must do something about that.”

He lifted Maeglin from the ground and set off down the hall.

There was a bathing chamber near Glorfindel’s room, and that was where he took Maeglin, dropping him onto a chair beside the empty tub.

“Do you want a warm bath or a cold one?”

He already suspected which Maeglin would choose, given that he’d been shivering since they’d pulled him from the basement. Even for an elf in the halls of Glorfindel’s home, it was chilly, most of them wore thick clothes, but Maeglin was weak and wearing rags.

His eyes were full of mistrust as he asked, “Why are you giving me a choice, my lord?”

“I’m not going to waste warm water on you,” he said. “If you wish for a warm bath I will be joining you.”

Maeglin rubbed his arms, clearly torn. “Warm,” he said finally.

Glorfindel let the water run, pouring into the tub which had a fire under it to heat it. Maeglin watched in silence.

“Of course, I’m not going to soak in your filth.” Before Maeglin could stop him he lifted a bucket of cold water and poured it over his head.

“Strip.”

Once Maeglin was naked he repeated the process, pouring more and more water over Maeglin, letting it swirl down a drain in the floor, until it was clear when it ran off him.

The smaller elf was shaking by the time he finished.

“My lord-”

“Hush or you can stand there all night.” Maeglin’s hair was still a matted mess, so he pulled it onto his head and tied it with a leather cord. “You will have until tomorrow to untangle your hair, otherwise I will shave it off.”

Maeglin’s hand shot to his hair protectively, but he nodded, seeming to try and slide closer to Glorfindel for warmth.

The bath was finished filling, so Glorfindel stripped and stepped inside, sinking into the warm water. It had a bench that ran the full width under the water so he could sit comfortably and still be almost fully submerged.

For several moments he watched Maeglin who was shivering and staring at the floor.

“Come here. Crawl.”

Maeglin slipped from his chair and crawled on his hands and knees to the tub. He hissed from the heat but didn’t pull back, sinking all the way in.

There was only room for one to sit on the bench, so Glorfindel pulled him into his lap. “Is that better?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Am I not generous?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Wash me.”

Maeglin turned himself slowly so that he was facing Glorfindel, then he picked up a cloth and a bar of soap and set to his task. He refused to meet Glorfindel’s eyes as he worked and his hands shook. As he got closer to Glorfindel’s crotch, the shaking increased to his entire body.

Glorfindel just smiled, enjoying seeing how far Maeglin had fallen.

“If you had succeeded,” he asked softly as Maeglin washed his foot. “Would you have forced such favors from Lady Idril?”

“No.”

“No? You think she would have wanted you, taken you as her lover willingly?”

“Yes.”

He laughed. “I see. You would have held her son hostage then, using him to get what you wanted.”

“No.”

Glorfindel grabbed his wrist, then pulled Maeglin to once again straddle his lap. Their eyes met. “You know what I think?” he asked softly, digging nails into Maeglin’s arm. “I think you would have taken her while still bathed in her husband’s blood.”

“I am not a rapist!”

“She would never have wanted you,” Glorfindel snarled, pulling Maeglin closer until his lips were against his ear. “And you would have forced yourself on her, you know it.”

“I would not- I am not like you!”

Glorfindel grabbed his jaw, forcing his mouth open. He took the bar of soap Maeglin had dropped when the scuffle had started and crammed it into his mouth. “Here is your supper,” he snarled, “now chew.”

He could tell by the look on Maeglin’s face that it must have been disgusting, but he chewed it anyway, his eyes still locked on Glorfindel’s and filled with malice.

Glorfindel settled back in the tub, watching Maeglin’s every move. “We invited her to have a say in your fate, you know,” he said. “Do you know what she said?”

Maeglin remained silent.

“She said she would not join in our counsel, because the fate that she wanted for you was unbecoming of a mother.”

Maeglin spat out the soap, no doubt intending to speak, but before he could, Glorfindel backhanded him. “Pick it up,” he ordered. “And put it back in your mouth.”

“No.”

Glorfindel picked up the bar of soap, still marked with marks from Maeglin’s teeth, and held it out. “You will eat this,” he said softly, “Or you spend the night on my balcony, naked and wet.”

Maeglin’s eyes narrowed, clearly debating. It wouldn’t kill him, not an elf, but it would be cold and humiliating.

He took the bar and put it back in his mouth, chewing slowly.

Glorfindel resumed watching him in silence. Finally, Maeglin swallowed, revulsion written across his face. “What do we say when someone gives us food?” Glorfindel asked.

“Thank you, my lord,” Maeglin growled.

Glorfindel stepped from the tub and dressed, but he made no offer of clothes for Maeglin, who he forced to crawl after him. Luck was on Maeglin’s side, to Glorfindel’s disappointment, and no one saw them on their walk to his room. Once inside he shut the door, then led Maeglin to his closet.

It had been emptied, and the door now had a bolt on the outside. “Your room, my prince,” Glorfindel taunted, pushing him inside with his boot.

There was nothing for Maeglin to lay on except the cold tile flooring, but he murmured, “Thank you, my lord.”

“I am told that winter on Balar is less than pleasant,” Glorfindel said. “It is barely autumn now, and already the nights are near freezing. If you are good, I will reward you with a blanket, but if you misbehave you will sleep nude. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good.” Glorfindel motioned to several iron rungs that had been set in the floor and wall. “I can chain you if I wish, but tonight I will not.” Then he slammed the door shut. “Remember to untangle your hair,” he called, as he readied himself for bed.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning when he opened the closet door, Maeglin was tucked into a ball in the corner. “Up,” Glorfindel ordered.

Maeglin pushed himself to his knees, then looked up at him pleadingly. “I tried to untangle my hair, my lord, I did.”

But it was clear his hair was still a mess. Glorfindel pointed to a chair that sat in front of the mirror. “Go kneel in front of the chair,” he said. He watched Maeglin as he crawled by, then kicked him, just because he could.

Once Maeglin was settled on the ground, Glorfindel grabbed a knife and moved to sit behind him. “My lord, I tried,” he whimpered.

“You seem quite vain,” Glorfindel remarked, examining Maeglin’s reflection in the mirror. His hair was less knotted than the day before, but it was still a mess.

“My lord-”

“Hush.” Glorfindel leaned his chin on the top of Maeglin’s head. “I thought about shaving you,” he said, holding the knife in front of Maeglin’s face and turning it over in his hands. “But I enjoy having something to hold onto when I’m fucking you.”

Maeglin winced but said nothing.

Glorfindel reached forward, grabbing a pair of scissors off the table, handing it to Maeglin. “Hold it.”

Then he ran his fingers through Maeglin’s hair, close to his scalp, testing how long the hair needed to be for him to get a good grip. Maeglin had always kept his hair longer than the Noldor, and Glorfindel had always wondered about it. “Tell me, do the Avari all keep their hair so long?”

“We do not cut it,” Maeglin said, sitting stiffly. “My lord if I could-”

“Not at all?” A wicked grin spread across Glorfindel’s face.

Maeglin immediately seemed to regret his choice of words. “Only children and servants cut their hair,” he said, shoulders shaking.

Glorfindel leaned forward again, his lips hovering by Maeglin’s ear. “I am told your people have kept slaves in the past. Tell me, what of them?”

“It has been many years- not since before I was born-”

“That is not what I asked.”

Maeglin winced. “They are not permitted to have any hair,” he said quietly, looking down at his hands. “Their heads are to be kept shaved and the rest of their body plucked.” Granted elves didn’t have as much hair on their bodies as most races, but even they had a short fuzz between their legs.

“Perhaps we should continue the tradition.” 

Clearly, he’d found a weak spot for Maeglin: his traditions. Although he had grown accustomed to the Noldor way of life, there were parts of his heritage he had always seemed to cling to. It was the tattoos that ran up his arms that had inspired Glorfindel to carve Gondolin into his back.

“My lord please,” he whimpered.

“I like you having hair on your head,” Glorfindel said finally. “But I have no use for any on your genitals. Keep it smooth or I will.”

“I doubt my lord will offer me a razor.”

“You will pluck it, as your kind would force their slaves to do.” Maeglin’s flinch brought another grin to Glorfindel’s face. He grabbed a handful of Maeglin’s hair and tugged. “But this I will keep at your shoulders.”

Even men of the Noldor didn’t keep their hair that short, and Maeglin whined. “Please-”

“Hold still or I will shave you.” He cut carefully, leaving a perfectly straight line along Maeglin’s trembling shoulders. Black hair fell to the floor in clumps, and with each snip, Maeglin sniffed.

By the time Glorfindel finished evening his hair, he was weeping.

“You’re pathetic,” Glorfindel told him, using Maeglin’s shoulders to push himself to his feet. “Now clean this mess. There’s a broom in the corner.”

Maeglin stayed on his knees as he cleaned, brushing the hair into a neat pile and then pushing a trash can. Glorfindel sat on the couch and watched him.

“Tell me more about your people’s slaves.”

Maeglin paused in his cleaning. “I have never met any, my lord.”

“And yet you seem to know of the practice.” Glorfindel liked the way his questions left Maeglin clearly ill at ease. He should have used this against him weeks ago.

“I will tell you what I know.”

“Finish cleaning first, then come and kneel in front of me.”

Maeglin finished gathering his hair from the floor, then did as he had been told, crawling to rest in front of Glorfindel. “My lord,” he murmured, bowing his head.

“Tell me about the Avari slaves. Who were they?”

“They were sometimes traded for debts. If a man owed another money, the man who was owed could petition for a set number of years to own the other. Sometimes children were taken in their place.”

“Foul,” Glorfindel remarked.

“I agree.”

Glorfindel kicked him. “You agree now that you find yourself the slave. Continue with your story. How were the slaves treated?”

“They were property,” Maeglin shrugged. “They had no rights and did what they were told. When the term of years was over, they were released and their hair was allowed to regrow.” 

“The more I learn of your people, the more I abhor them.”

Maeglin said nothing, still looking at his feet. “There is an Avari who has joined the settlement, she has agreed to add to your tattoos.”

Maeglin looked up, fear glinting in his eyes.

“Your back did not scar as well as I had hoped. Perhaps if we ink it into your skin, you will remember better.”

“My lord-”

“Silence.” Glorfindel stood and Maeglin curled in on himself, frightened. He wordlessly walked to his dresser, then pulled out the clothes he had commissioned for Maeglin. “Put these on,” he said, tossing them to him. “Then walk to me. I have another gift for you.”

Maeglin slid into the clothes with ease, then struggled to his feet. He leaned heavily on the couch, then surveyed the distance between himself and Glorfindel. “My lord I am not certain-”

Glorfindel lifted the cane he had gotten. “This is for you,” he said, holding it out. “If you can come and take it.”

Maeglin grit his teeth and took a step forward. Then another. Then another. His entire body was shaking by the time he made it to Glorfindel, but he looked entirely too proud of himself as he took ahold of the cane, leaning his weight on it.

“Good,” Glorfindel said. “You may use this as you please. But if you misbehave, I will use it to beat you.”

Maeglin winced. “I understand,” he said.

Then Glorfindel leaned forward until their faces were almost touching. “Perhaps I will even fuck you will it, my little cripple.” Without warning, he kicked Maeglin’s wounded foot out from under him.

The smith hit the ground hard, crying out in pain.

Glorfindel ignored his pain, saying, “From now on, I will no longer bring you food. If you wish to be fed, you will accompany me to my meals.”

Maeglin pushed himself to his knees. “Yes, my lord.” 

“It is time for breakfast.” Glorfindel nodded to the door. “Today I will walk slow, but do not test my patience.”

After a moment’s deliberation, he helped Maeglin to his feet and put the cane in his hand, then directed him toward the door.

Maeglin struggled, but he didn’t give in, clearly hungry, and he made it into the hall without incident. Glorfindel kept a slow pace and talked as they walked, “You will kneel on the floor beside me,” he said. “Slaves do not eat at the table.” Or, he supposed they didn’t. Unlike their cousins, the Noldor did not typically hold one another in bondage.

“Yes, my lord.”

Glorfindel led him to the dining room, but by the time they were there, Maeglin was barely able to take another step. “I will help you today,” Glorfindel said, “Only because you have been good this morning.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

He carefully guided Maeglin to where he wanted him to kneel, then took his own chair.

Maeglin watched him as he ate, and when he finished he gave Maeglin what was left of his meal. The smith gulped it gratefully.

Then Glorfindel gestured a servant forward. “Take him to his closet and lock him in.”

He Maeglin left in the closet all day, then called for him again at dinner. After they had both eaten he made Maeglin walk back to his room. “You are doing well,” he said, following behind him. “Your strength seems to be returning.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Glorfindel stepped into his room and shut the door behind him. Tomorrow you will accompany me to my office while I work. I cannot continue to waste servants to bring you back and forth.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Look at me.”

Maeglin lifted his head, staring blankly at Glorfindel. The golden elf sat on his bed, leaning back against the headboard. “Keeping track of you is exhausting, my little cripple,” he said, closing his eyes.

“I will not apologize.”

“Of course you won’t,” Glorfindel replied. “But I will demand respite.”

“What do you mean, my lord?”

Glorfindel shifted so that he was laying on his stomach, then said, “Come and rub my back. If you are good, I will give you a blanket.”

Maeglin limped toward him, then crawled onto the bed. He straddled Glorfindel, then hesitantly laid his hands on the other’s shoulders. “If I am still stressed when this is over,” he threatened softly, “then I will just beat you. I find that rather calming.”

It turned out Maeglin wasn’t half bad, seeming to know where to find the knots on Glorfindel’s back, rubbing each one away. “Have you done this before?” Glorfindel asked him.

“With the other smiths.”

Glorfindel only grunted. Finally, he pushed Maeglin away. “Pick a blanket and go to bed,” he said. Maeglin grabbed one off the couch and limped back to his closet, closing the door behind him.

Glorfindel locked it, then stumbled into bed.


	7. Chapter 7

The weather grew colder on Balar, and even Glorfindel managed to take some measure of pity on Maeglin, offering him a warmer coat to wear.

Somehow Maeglin seemed to grow used to his life, although he was by no measure happy. He would limp after Glorfindel keeping his head bowed and doing whatever he was told.

He did, occasionally, talk back.

Glorfindel was complaining about the difficulties of convincing people to follow the rationing they had set up when Maeglin said, “Perhaps they don’t like being friends with a monster.”

Glorfindel stilled. “There is only one monster in this room, Maeglin,” he returned. “And it is not me.”

“We are both monsters.”

He sat his quill aside slowly, almost waiting for Maeglin to retract his statement. But he didn’t. “And why do you think I am a monster?”

If he knew he was toeing a dangerous line, it didn’t show on his face. Maeglin squared his shoulders, meeting Glorfindel’s gaze. “You broke my foot and raped me.” 

“Perhaps.” He leaned back in his chair. “But I have never murdered anyone.”

“You killed Salgant.”

“I _executed_ Salgant.”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night.”

“You think I am a monster?” he asked again, still watching Maeglin’s face, testing to see if his defiance would fade. His voice was quiet, chilling, and he motioned for Maeglin to stand and walk toward him. “Bring your cane.”

Maeglin did as he was told, leaning heavily on the wooden stick as he approached Glorfindel. “I will be your monster, Maeglin,” he said, taking the cane from Maeglin and forcing him to lean back against the desk for support.

“You have a choice,” he said, reaching out to brush the hair from Maeglin’s forehead. “Apologize and I will be lenient.”

Maeglin swore at him. Something in his expression caught Glorfindel’s attention, and he laughed. “Are you so afraid of appearing weak that you will insult me against your better judgment?”

He received no reply.

Glorfindel stood, taking ahold of Maeglin’s collar and dragging him across the room. Without his cane, Maeglin stumbled and struggled to keep up.

He tossed Maeglin against an empty table. “Strip.”

The smith folded his arms across his chest, though his eyes betrayed his hesitation. “This is your last warning,” Glorfindel said quietly. “If you do not strip, I will do it for you.”

But Maeglin remained still.

Glorfindel sighed and dropped the cane to the ground, with one quick step he was in front of Maeglin, and he made quick work of Maeglin’s shirt. The Avari put up a token struggle, but there was less force behind it than usual.

_Good_, Glorfindel thought as he pulled off the smaller elf’s pants and shoes. _He can be taught_.

Once Maeglin was stripped he pushed him against the wall, pinning him with one hand. “Tonight you will be returned to your cell in the basement,” he said, his lips against Maeglin’s ear. “Tomorrow I will take you to the square at noon, and let people take out their frustrations on you.”

“My lord-”

“How many men can you pleasure before you beg for their forgiveness?” Glorfindel whispered.

“_Please_.”

He didn’t truly intend to let anyone else fuck Maeglin, that was his pleasure alone, but he wasn’t above manipulating him. “Of course, I could tell them they are only allowed to beat you. Would you prefer that?”

Maeglin nodded quickly. “I would, my lord. I would.”

He ran his hand through Maeglin’s short hair. “You will have to earn my favor.”

“_Anything_.”

Glorfindel ran a hand down Maeglin's back, then snaked one hand around his waist to pull him close. "Here is my deal, little cripple," he whispered. "You will walk willingly to the square. You will accept whatever punishment the people wish to give you. It will last one hour."

Maeglin cried out in terror, but Glorfindel brought a hand to his lips to silence him. "I will stop them if they take it too far," he promised. "And when it is done, you will be returned to my room."

"But they will not rape me?" Maeglin whispered, his voice a higher pitch than usual.

"No," Glorfindel said. "They will not." He smiled, and pressed a kiss to Maeglin's neck. "But I greatly enjoyed that night in your cell, when you were dripping with blood as I took you."

"My lord-"

"When you return to my rooms, I will take you while your wounds are still fresh." The Avari was starting to shake, no longer able to hide his fear. "I will not prepare you, nor offer you any comfort. I will rip you apart from the inside." He patted Maeglin's stomach. "But I will be the only one to use you. Is that satisfactory?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Tell me what I will be permitted to do to you." He licked Maeglin's ear. "And thank me for my generosity. I doubt you will have the strength to do it tomorrow."

Maeglin's ear tips burned red, but he did as he was told. "I will be beaten in the public square," he said, his voice trembling. "Then I will return with my lord and he will take pleasure from me."

"Details, Maeglin, details." 

The smith swallowed. "I will be ripped apart, broken and bleeding, but I will be grateful for his protection, so I will not protest, even when the pain is too much." 

Glorfindel nodded. "Good," he said, stepping back. Then he called for an escort to take Maeglin back to the basement cell.

* * *

The next morning, Glorfindel met Maeglin and his escort near the stables.

The smith was still naked, the only possession he had was the cane he was leaning heavily on, but the fight seemed to have gone out of his eyes. Instead of glaring at Glorfindel with hatred, he meekly looked down to the floor.

Glorfindel handed him a whip, a length of rope, and a riding crop. “Carry these,” he said, “and follow me.”

He led the smaller elf through the streets, to the main square. They picked up a crowd of onlookers as they walked, Maeglin struggling to keep up under his burden, and Glorfindel, sitting on his horse, as tall and proud as ever.

Once in the main square, he took the items from Maeglin, then tied used the rope to tie his hands above his head so that he hung off a streetlight. “One hour,” he told him.

Then he dropped the whip, Maeglin’s cane, and the crop by the base of the pole and stepped back.

It didn’t take long until the first person stepped forward, he picked up the crop and then glanced to Glorfindel. With a nod of permission, he struck it against Maeglin’s back.

Maeglin didn’t cry out until the second person, a small woman who was smart enough to hit his crippled foot, but once he had let out any noise, it became a competition to see who could get the loudest scream.

Glorfindel sat by, not interfering unless someone went too far, letting them take out their frustrations on the murderer of their kin. At the halfway point, he stepped in just long enough to turn Maeglin around, so that the blows would land on his stomach, instead of his back. Then he slipped back into the growing throng of onlookers.

When the hour was finished, Maeglin was completely limp, the only thing that was holding him up was the ropes on his wrist, and red welts had begun to form around them.

The crowd parted as Glorfindel stepped forward, letting him cut Maeglin down, then he threw him over his horse and returned to his home. Once there, he picked him up, wrapping him in a cloak to stop his blood from soaking into his clothes, and carried him inside. 

When they returned to Glorfindel’s room, he dropped the bloodied elf onto the ground, then stripped himself.

He took Maeglin brutally, nearly as rough as the first time he had visited him in his cell, but Maeglin didn’t make a single noise or attempt to escape. By the time he climaxed, they were both stained red from blood. "Am I enough of a monster now, my cripple?" he asked. 

After that, he bathed them and sanitized Maeglin's wounds before chaining him to the couch in his room. “Sleep,” he ordered, then he dressed and strode from the room, returning to his work and leaving Maeglin a sore and exhausted mess.


	8. Chapter 8

Maeglin didn’t have the energy to stand that day or the next. The combination of his beating and the humiliation had been too much. In fact, for the next week, he did little but lay on a couch in Glorfindel’s room. Even with his exhaustion, they kept him on a chain that ran from his leg to the floor.

Every day Glorfindel sat beside him, spooning food into his mouth, making him thank him for each bite. Once Maeglin had eaten he would spread his legs and rub salve into his hole. His gentleness was not for Maegin's benefit, however, just so that the other would be back to being useful sooner.

“I wish I had killed them all,” Maeglin said one day as Glorfindel swirled his fingers in his ass. “I wish they had all died.”

“Do you never learn, you little cripple?” Glorfindel asked, giving his thigh a scolding tap. 

“Most of all, I wish the balrog had killed you.”

Glorfindel stiffened. “You know,” he said softly, “you are already open and waiting, perhaps I’d like to have a bit of fun with you.”

Maeglin didn’t have the strength to protest as Glorfindel slid his legs further apart, but it seemed it was only a threat. Instead of entering him, Glorfindel just landed a slap on his inner thigh.

“Some days,” Glorfindel said, “I think I ought to rescind my deal and turn you free for everyone to use.” He picked up more of the cream on his fingers, then slipped them back inside Maeglin.

“Am I supposed to thank you for not letting them gang-rape me?”

Glorfindel stilled, his eyes narrowing at Maeglin. “I brought you into my home. Gave you my protection. Feed you. And care for your wounds-”

“You gave me my wounds.”

“Perhaps I will cut out your tongue.”

“You won’t.”

Glorfindel said nothing, but he pulled back from Maeglin, patted his stomach, and helped him to dress.

That night, like every night since his public beating, he was carried to Glorfindel’s bed. He would flinch every time, expecting another rape, but it never came. Instead Glorfindel would just wrap his arm around him and tell him to sleep.

But Maeglin couldn’t sleep.

Strange shapes visited him in his dreams, memories of his life in Gondolin. Memories of his mother.

He lurched awake, tears crowding his eyes. Scrambling from the bed, he went as far as the chain would let him, then curled into a ball. Glorfindel hadn’t seemed to have woken, still snoring peacefully, so Maeglin slept there, on the floor.

* * *

Glorfindel woke him the next morning with the words, “Is there any particular reason you’re on the floor?” The golden elf was already dressed, looking down at Maeglin.

“No,” he lied.

“You look at the ceiling when you lie.”

“Are you going to beat me for it?”

He just shook his head. “I will return later.”

Maeglin hated to admit it, but he was bored. There wasn’t much he could do, even if he wasn’t chained, everything still ached too much. Instead, he just alternated laying on his stomach and laying on his back, trying to keep the pain at bay. 

But he was finally feeling better, so he took a few hesitant steps around the room, fumbling in the drawers curiously.

There wasn’t much. Most of Glorfindel’s possessions had no doubt been destroyed with Gondolin, but he had the basics. Including, to Maeglin’s delight, a pin.

He drew it from the drawer he found it in with a grin, then limped back to the couch. If nothing else, Maeglin was a talented locksmith, and it took only a short time for him to free open the lock.

Then he was free.

The chain fell away with a rattle, and Maeglin stood. He needed to get out quickly. But first, he needed to change.

He grabbed a set of clothes, wrapping himself until he appeared larger, bulkier, then he took his cane and limped to the door.

Fortunately for his disguise, several elves had been injured fighting Morgoth, so it was not entirely unusual for an elf to limp through the halls with a cane.

Unfortunately, Avari were still a head shorter than most Noldor.

He couldn’t muster up surprise when he was caught, grabbing him and laughing. “Where is your keeper?” demanded a deep, unfamiliar voice.

“I am on an errand for him,” Maeglin lied, struggling not to look at the ceiling.

“Truly? Our Lord of the Golden Flower has told us that you’ve been confined to his chambers to heal from your public display.”

Maeglin snarled and tried to pull away, but someone else caught him, helping the first soldier to restrain him. “It’s unfortunate that we weren’t able to attend.”

They drug him along roughly. Maeglin wasn’t certain if anyone else saw him, or if anyone else even cared. They certainly didn’t, throwing him into a dark closet and hurrying in after him.

They stripped off the light tunic he’d been wearing, then shoved him against the wall. “Lord Glorfindel was right,” one of them said, tracing a hand along the cuts on his back which laid over the scars from the map Glorfindel had carved into him. “These suit him.”

“Let me go!” he hissed, struggling against him.

Someone grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his head into the wall. Everything was a bit blurry after that.

He didn’t have the strength to fight against them, not when one of them pulled off a belt and used it as a whip while the others held him.

He couldn’t even fight when they pulled off his pants. Instead, he grit his jaw, determined to ignore them in the way he tried to ignore Glorfindel.

But the closet door opened.

“I truly hope that isn’t my little cripple in there with you.”

Their grips loosened and Maeglin fell to the ground. “My lord-”

“Just go,” Glorfindel said, almost sounding sad. “I understand the desire to harm him - believe me, I do - but this is what is best.”

They hurried past, either because they believed his words or because they feared retribution. Either way, Maeglin remained on the ground as Glorfindel strode forward.

“Tell me the truth,” Glorfindel said softly. “Did they take you from my room or did you flee?”

Maeglin debated lying, but finally, he mumbled, “I ran.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “You are nothing but trouble.” He gathered Maeglin up with surprising gentleness, carrying him back to his room. “What did you use to get free?”

“There’s a pin on the side table.”

Glorfindel placed him on the couch, then picked up the pin. “This one?”

Maeglin nodded. For a moment Glorfindel stood over him, just staring at the pin, then without a word he stabbed it into Maeglin’s hip.

Maeglin bit back a cry of pain.

“Next time, I won’t be so forgiving.”

Maeglin glared at him, resisting the urge to pull the pin from his side. “Just get it over with.”

“Get what over with?”

“Whatever foul thing it is you’re planning to do to me.”

Glorfindel merely shook his head. “The only plans I have for you at the moment is ensuring your head heals.” He ran his thumb along the tender spot on Maeglin’s forehead where they had slammed him into the wall.

“You cannot run, Maeglin,” he said, moving his hand to brush his fingers through Maeglin’s short hair. “You are safest here, with me, do you understand that now?”

Maeglin looked away, inhaling sharply.

“I am as fair as I can be, I discipline you when needed, but I will never allow myself to go too far.”

“Don’t-” Maeglin’s voice choked off, and it took a moment before he found the strength to speak again. “Don’t take me back to the square my lord, please.”

“Behave for me, and I will not.”

Maeglin nodded, bowing his head.

Glorfindel pulled the needle from his hip. “Since I cannot trust you in my room, you will be returned to the basement.”

“My lord it is _cold_,” he whimpered.

“Three days,” Glorfindel said as if Maeglin hadn’t spoken. “No food. No clothing. I will allow you water, and that is all.”

“_Please_.”

“Four days.”

Maeglin shut his mouth, looking away. Then he let Glorfindel lead him from the warm room, and down into the basement.


	9. Chapter 9

Glorfindel grew bored without Maeglin.

After two days of having sent the smith to back to his basement cell, he decided to pay him a visit.

Maeglin was curled into a corner, his arms wrapped around his legs, short hair hanging in his face. Even Glorfindel could feel the chill in the air.

As he entered, the prisoner looked up hesitantly. “Do not get over-excited, you have only been here for two days,” Glorfindel said.

Maeglin slumped back down, but he still watched the golden elf curiously.

Glorfindel sat down, in the same chair he had brought the last time Maeglin had been kept there. “Would you like to warm up?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Come here.”

Maeglin crawled across the floor obediently, allowing himself to be pulled into Glorfindel’s arms. The sight of the once-proud elf, reduced to begging and cuddling for warmth, brought a slight grin to Glorfindel’s face.

“May I speak, my lord?” Maeglin whispered after a moment.

“You may.”

“Perhaps I- well, I wondered-” he stumbled over his words, still shivering, although it seemed to be more from nerves than anything else. He swallowed, then burst out, “Let me pleasure you.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “Are you attempting to purchase my forgiveness?” he asked with amusement.

“I am _cold_,” Maeglin whimpered. As if to prove a point, his stomach rumbled.

The golden elf considered. Maeglin was clearly desperate and somewhat frazzled if he was even suggesting such a thing. But then, he wondered how long it would be until the offer was repeated.

If ever.

“Very well,” he said, and Maeglin released. “I do not promise to forgive you, or to end your punishment early, but if I am pleased, I will consider it.”

Maeglin winced at the terms but nodded readily anyway. “Thank you, my lord,” he whispered. He shifted, pressing his crotch into Glorfindel’s, spreading his legs. But Glorfindel shook his head.

“I’ve had your ass before, my pretty boy,” he said, pushing hair from Maeglin’s face. “Use your mouth.”

Before the smith could reconsider, he pushed him from his lap and then unlaced his pants, allowing his penis to slide out. “Don’t you dare bite.”

“I’ve never-”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Hesitantly Maeglin crawled forward, and there were tears in his eyes as he pressed a kiss to Glorfindel’s erect penis. Haltingly he mouthed at it, as though a slight touch from his lips and tongue would be enough.

Glorfindel sighed, then grabbed Maeglin by his head and pushed himself into his mouth.

Maeglin gasped, struggling for a moment, then going perfectly still. “Keep control of your teeth and open your throat,” Glorfindel said.

Then he began.

With each thrust Maeglin spluttered, trying to get enough oxygen into his lungs, but Glorfindel didn’t take pity on him. He shoved Maeglin to his back on the floor then knelt over him, continuing to fuck his throat roughly.

Weak hands scrambled at his legs, as though begging him to give him a break, but Glorfindel didn’t stop. When he knew he was close he shoved in as far as he could, so that Maeglin had little choice but to swallow his seed.

Once he could regain control of himself he stood, lacing his pants back up. Maeglin stared up at him weakly from the ground, letting out a soft cry as he stepped toward the door. “My lord!”

“Hush,” Glorfindel snapped. “I did not promise you your freedom in return for my pleasure.”

“What can I do-”

“Nothing.”

Maeglin scrambled to his knees, crawling across the floor after Glorfindel. Without being bid, he pressed his lips to Glorfindel’s boots, whimpering softly.

“Stand up.”

Maeglin struggled to his feet, looking up pleadingly. His lame leg nearly crumbled beneath him, even just standing in one place.

“Why should I bring you with me?”

“It is cold-”

“I don’t care.” His voice was sharp, and the prisoner flinched at his words. “Why will it benefit _me_?”

“I will serve you,” Maeglin whispered, bowing his head. “I will do anything my lord pleases.”

“You attempted to run from me.”

“It was a mistake.”

He tilted his head, considering. Perhaps he ought to reward Maeglin for having learned to beg so sweetly. “I will make no promise not to return you here,” he said finally. “But for now you may accompany me.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Maeglin sobbed.

Glorfindel picked him up, tossing him over his shoulder like a sack, then walked back to the house. They passed several servants in the halls who snickered as they walked by, but Maeglin remained silent

He took Maeglin to his office, grabbing a cloak he kept by the door, and then sat on the floor by the fire, sitting Maeglin on his lap. He wrapped the cloak around Maeglin’s trembling shoulders, and the dark elf curled into it with a sob.

“Keep doing that,” he said.

“My lord?”

“Crying.” He smiled. “I enjoy watching you weep.”

“I cannot force myself-”

“Then I will force you.”

Maeglin instinctively tried to pull back, but Glorfindel caught him, pulling him against his chest and tucking Maeglin’s chin under his head. “Not now, of course,” he said, rubbing Maeglin’s shaking shoulders. “But I have a rather wonderful plan.”

“My lord?”

“I have friends coming for a dinner party tomorrow,” he said, brushing a hand through Maelgin’s hair. “Would you care to attend?”

“Would it… please you?”

He chuckled. “I thought we could truss you up like a suckling pig and lay you at the center of the table.” In his lap, Maeglin stiffened, believing every word that came from Glorfindel’s mouth. Somehow, he had yet to figure out that the golden elf had no intention of sharing him.

“Have you been plucking your hair as I ordered?”

“My lord-”

He slipped his hand between Maeglin’s legs, running a finger over the smooth skin. “Good,” he murmured. “You will look excellent spread on my table.”

A shiver ran through the Avari, but he kept his mouth closed, letting Glorfindel plan his fantasies in peace. “And then when dinner was over we could pass you around.” His finger tapped Maeglin’s hole. “Then they could all watch how the destroyer of Gondolin weeps.”

“Might I please my lord alone?” he asked softly, tilting his head back to stare up at Glorfindel.

The golden elf pretended to be shocked. “Alone? But my dear cripple, I will enjoy watching the High King fuck you. Perhaps he will even bring that spear he fights with. I wonder how you would look, spitted on it?”

Maeglin tried to pull away, but Glorfindel held him tightly. “Or perhaps you have a better idea? What would you trade me?”

He was breathing quickly as he struggled to come up with an alternative to Glorfindel’s lies. “I- I would _anything_.”

“You will have to be more specific.” Glorfindel pushed Maeglin from his lap. “I have work to do. You have one hour to come up with your plan. I want a detailed list of what I will be given in return for not having you entertain my guests.”

Then he returned to his desk, leaving Maeglin shivering in front of the fire. Periodically he would glance up from his work to watch Maeglin struggle to formulate a plan to keep himself from his nightmares.

When the hour was over he called Maeglin to him. Unable to walk without his cane, he crawled forward, letting Glorfindel lift him to sit on the desk. It was strange having Maeglin be above him, but Glorfindel leaned back and rested his feet on either side of him, enjoying the view.

“What is your plan, little cripple?” he asked, looking up at Maeglin with a grin.

The smaller elf swallowed. “I am not as creative as my lord-” he began.

“That much is clear, but it is not what I asked.”

“I thought perhaps you would enjoy a bath, tonight, my lord,” he said hesitantly.

“I’ve already bathed with you, that’s nothing new.”

“I will make it very special.” Glorfindel could see the frightened gears turning in Maeglin’s head as he stumbled through his plan. “And then-” his ears were bright pink as he spluttered on his words. “Is my lord familiar with aphrodisiacs?”

Glorfindel choked. Of all the things he thought Maeglin would suggest, that was the farthest from his mind. “What?”

“I used them once,” he said, his face flushing an even deeper shade of red. “They are very effective on me.”

Unable to help himself, Glorfindel burst out laughing. Maeglin looked panicked. “My lord it was all I could think of!”

“My little cripple,” he managed, “who hates when I fuck him, wants me to drug him and make him out of his mind with desire?”

“I would prefer that to the alternative,” he replied.

He swallowed his laugher after a moment, then leaned back and looked up at Maeglin curiously. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Why are you so frightened of anyone else taking you? If I told you tomorrow that I was going to gift you to the high king you would beg to stay with me. Why?”

Maeglin looked down at his lap. “I know you,” he said softly. “I prefer that to the unknown.”

Glorfindel didn’t know how to respond. Maeglin wasn’t… growing dependent on him, was he? The idea almost disgusted him. But at the same time, he enjoyed the irony.

“I will consider your offer,” he said finally. “But for tonight you will return to your cell.”

“My lord-”

“I will decide tomorrow if you will be present at the feast or not. I will not tell you ahead of time.” He smiled, reaching up to run a hand through Maeglin’s hair. “You will just have to dread it.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has threats of eye gore, but no actual eye gore.

He had already made his mind up regarding the feast - for starters, it didn’t even exist - but he was still highly tempted to send one of his soldiers, perhaps one of the ones who had attacked Maeglin in the hall, to tie him up and shove an apple in his mouth.

Just to frighten him.

But he ended up too busy to even bother with that, so Maeglin would just have to panic alone.

Finally, the day after his faked party, he summoned one of the men who had attacked Maeglin. “Do you still want revenge on the little monster?” he asked.

The soldier nodded.

“Go and fetch him for me. You have twenty minutes, and I need him to be able to walk.” As an afterthought, he added, ”Don’t touch his ass.” Then he waved the man from the room. 

He was extremely punctual, and when twenty minutes had gone by, the door to Glorfindel’s room opened and Maeglin was pushed inside. He had a bruise forming under his eye, and red welts had formed on his stomach, as though he’d been pummeled.

“Come here, little cripple,” he said, motioning Maeglin forward as the soldier stepped from the room. Maeglin limped toward him, managing to keep his feet under him, then carefully lowered himself into Glorfindel’s lap.

“Thank you, my lord,” he whispered, bowing his head. “I was glad to stay in my cell yesterday.”

Glorfindel pulled him closer. He was still nude and shivering, since Glorfindel had taken the cloak back before sending him away, and curled into Glorfindel’s warmth. “We had a rather enjoyable dinner,” he said. “Although I must confess it lacked anything particularly entertaining.”

“I am sorry, my lord.”

“It is alright, you’ve given quite a few inspiring ideas, after all.” Glorfindel opened a box he had sitting on the chair beside him, revealing an assortment of glass bottles. “Do you recognize any of these?”

Maeglin glanced at them, then shook his head.

“This one causes a burning sensation on the skin that lasts for days. This one would render you entirely immobile, but completely aware. This one would keep you awake for days without respite. And this one,” he lifted a small green bottle, dangling it in front of Maeglin’s nose, “would leave you begging for my touch like a slut.” In truth, they were all filled with water, but Maeglin’s horrified face was enough to make Glorfindel chuckle. Perhaps he would feed him one, just to frighten him. It would be an interesting experiment, to see how Maeglin would respond if he thought he was drinking poison. 

“Come cripple, it is time to warm you up.”

A warm bath had already been drawn, and he helped Maeglin undress and enter it, hissing as the heat ripped across his chilled flesh. “There, there,” he said, stepping in after him. “It will feel better soon.”

Once the pain had subsided, he let Maeglin bathe him, letting the smith rub at his muscles had he had done before. “I will allow you to return to your forge soon, I think,” he said, leaning back in the water as Maeglin rubbed at his legs.

His dark head shot up. “Truly?”

Glorfindel smiled. “Yes, truly, Maeglin.”

“My lord is too generous.” His massaging forgotten, Maeglin scrambled forward into Glorfindel’s lap, his eyes glowing.

“In exchange for my generosity, I have something I would like you to create for me.”

“Anything,” Maeglin whispered.

Glorfindel smiled. “I will show you later. Now finish what you were doing.”

Once the water had begun to cool, Glorfindel stepped out and then helped Maeglin out after him. “I want you to make yourself a new cane as well,” he said. “A metal one would suit you better, and sting far more when I whipped you.”

Maeglin shifted uncomfortably. “As my lord commands.”

Glorfindel dressed in a loose-fitting robe but helped Maeglin back into his room without offering him any clothes. “You chose where to sleep, tonight,” he said. “My bed or your closet.”

“Your bed sounds far warmer, my lord.”

“It will be.” A tray of food waited for them, and he motioned to it. “Eat and then come to bed.”

Maeglin gulped it down greedily, licking his fingers after it was gone, then he slowly limped to Glorfindel’s bed. The golden elf was already tucked beneath the covers, and when Maeglin joined him he smiled.

“Ah, I nearly forgot. The thing I wanted you to create for me.”

“Yes my lord?”

He reached over Maeglin, fumbling in the bedside table for a moment, then pulled out the wooden plug he had carved so many weeks ago, and used on Maeglin the first time he had taken him. It was still stained with his blood.

It was clear Maeglin remembered it. “My lord-”

“You will forge me a metal one, to replace this. But I want the dimensions to be the same, so you understand?”

Maeglin nodded, his eyes full of fear. “Yes my lord, I understand.”

Glorfindel pressed it against Maeglin’s lips, and he let it be shoved into his mouth, wincing as the rough splinters scratched at his gums.

“If I enjoy what you make me, I will burn this one,” Glorfindel promised. “But if I do not, I will continue to use this one.”

Maeglin nodded, unable to speak. “Now put that thing back and go to sleep.”

* * *

Glorfindel was jarred awake several hours later by sniffles, and when he tried to turn over, he realized Maeglin was pressed into his side, shaking. It was clear he was still asleep, but plagued by nightmares. With a sigh, Glorfindel rolled away from him and went back to sleep.

The next morning he didn’t say a word about Maeglin’s night terrors, instead offering him a change of clothes and his cane. They walked in silence to breakfast, and, as usual, Maeglin knelt on the floor and ate the scraps that Glorfindel didn’t want.

“Would you like to begin your work in the forge today?” he asked.

“Please, my lord.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Come with me.” He summoned guards to watch them, but left them at the outer door, rather than taking them into the forge itself. “They will not stand in here with you, not so long as I can trust you not to flee. But if you give me any reason not to trust you, they will watch your every movement. Am I understood?”

“Yes my lord.”

Maeglin’s eyes darted around the forge, taking it in excitedly.

Glorfindel reached into his pocket and drew out the plug, setting it on the anvil. “Two days,” he said, then turned and walked out. 

* * *

When Maeglin’s two days were finished, he stood in Glorfindel’s study as the sun set and presented him with what he had made. As expected, it was perfect.

But Glorfindel wasn’t ready to give up his chance to frighten Maeglin. “Here is what we will do,” he said, holding one in each hand. “You will bend over your anvil, and I will insert one of these.”

“Which one, my lord?” he asked hesitantly.

“Well, that is the question, isn’t it?”

Maeglin almost looked as though he was going to resist, as though his time spent working the forge had reminded him of his strengths, but after a moment he nodded and bowed his head. “Yes my lord.”

Glorfindel tossed him a bottle of oil. “Go to your forge. Prepare yourself. I will meet you there in five minutes. If you are not stretched enough, it will be your own fault. I expect you to already be over the anvil when I arrive.”

He gave Maeglin only a brief headstart before following after him, although he walked leisurely, enjoying the cool afternoon temperature. When Glorfindel opened the forge, he caught a flurry of motion as Maeglin practically threw himself over his anvil.

Perhaps Maeglin was testing him, perhaps Glorfindel hadn’t been specific enough. “Still dressed?” he asked, stepping forward. “I suppose you may keep your tunic.”

His leggings were around his ankles, but Glorfindel pushed his shirt up a bit more before examining his work. “I hope you’ve done your work well, otherwise this will not be pleasant for you.”

He leaned over, dangling the wooden plug in front of the smith’s eyes. Maeglin’s eyes widened, clearly thinking it was what he intended to use. “My lord-” he began. But when his mouth opened, Glorfindel shoved the plug in.

“Keep that there,” he said. Then he lined up the metal plug and pressed it inside.

Judging by Maeglin’s gasp, it had hurt a bit, but Glorfindel saw no sign of bleeding, so he took that to mean the smith had prepared himself adequately. Glorfindel rubbed his back, feeling his muscles clenching. “Spit that out,” he said.

Maeglin didn’t need to be told twice, and the plug fell to the ground.

“Describe what you are feeling.”

As always, when Glorfindel ordered him to describe things, the smith’s ears turned red. “My lord, it is _huge_.” He sucked in a deep breath, then continued, “When it breached me was the worst, but now it is not so bad.”

“Compare them.”

“This one hurts less, though, that maybe because I was better prepared.” Maeglin shifted and winced. “But it is not comfortable at all.” A knee pressed between Maeglin's cheeks, jarring the plug, and he let out a whine. Without prompting, he described, “That was… not pleasant. Would my lord permit me to stand?”

His back was tense, and Glorfindel stepped back, watching in a slow circle around the anvil before stopping by Maeglin's face. He crouched down so that their faces were even, stroking a hand through Maeglin's hair. "You need another haircut.' 

"Of course, my lord." 

He stepped away, wandering between the shelves of supplies. Each one had been carefully labeled, and it took him a moment to find what he wanted. Maeglin had shoved it out of sight, perhaps the mere sight of it made him sick.

Glorfindel picked up the hammer he'd used to crush Maeglin's foot and returned to the smith's slide. "Not a word," he said when Maeglin started to open his mouth, perhaps to beg. The smith trembled slightly, his muscles no doubt starting to ache from bending over, even with his anvil to lean on. But he remained silent as Glorfindel stroked the hammer and stared at him. 

Glorfindel pulled him up, then forced him to turn around and sit on his anvil. "Remove your boot." 

Maeglin carefully unlaced the boot of his crushed foot and presented it to Glorfindel, wincing when the golden elf ran his fingers over the malformed bone. "I think this suits you," he said, twisting his ankle to the side and watching as Maeglin's face contorted. "But I think I might damage more of you. You are still rather fair to look at, after all, and we both know your heart is black and shriveled." 

Tears shone in Maeglin's eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it quickly, remembering Glorfindel's order.

"I would still want you to be useful, of course, so that limits my options." He leaned forward, pressing his thumb against Maeglin's left eye. "If you don't need both feet, I suppose you don't need both eyes." 

Maeglin was shaking, tears falling down his cheeks freely, but he remained silent. 

"I would want you to describe it, of course. We would need to document the feelings." He tapped his thumb against's Maeglin's eyelid. "Will you beg me?"

"Please! My lord I will do anything you ask of me, please leave me my eyes." 

Glorfindel ran his nail over his eyelid but then stepped back. "You may keep your sight for now." 

"Thank you!" Maeglin pushed himself to his feet, stepping toward Glorfindel, but then his face twisted as he was forced to remember the plug that was still crammed up his ass. 

"Oh yes," Glorfindel said, raising an eyebrow. "I had nearly forgotten our comparison.” He tilted his head back, studying Maeglin curiously. “I think we need a longer trial, after all, you wore the first one for days.”

“Days?”

“I won’t make you ear this one as long, but I think overnight would suffice.”

Maeglin paled, looking panicked. “Overnight?” he whined.

Glorfindel nodded. “Yes, I will remove it in the morning, provided you behave yourself.” He pulled him to his feet and yanked up his pants, tying them in place. Then he swatted Maeglin on the ass and pushed him out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning, Glorfindel waited until after breakfast, not saying a word about Maeglin’s obvious discomfort. He led the other to his study, and then sat down. Maeglin stood uncertainly in front of his desk, knowing better than to sit without invitation. He leaned on his cane, watching Glorfindel with pleading eyes as he shuffled through the papers on his desk.

Finally, when Maeglin looked like he was about to start weeping. Glorfindel looked up and dismissively said, “Take it out yourself. Clean it, and then keep it on your person.”

Maeglin bowed and murmured a thank you, then scurried away to the corner of the room to care for himself. Glorfindel made a show of not watching, as though he was bored, but he listened intently. Judging by the noises Maeglin made, it was less than pleasant.

After a while, he asked, “I made you a promise many weeks ago, Maeglin, do you recall what that was?”

“No, my lord.” 

Glorfindel held out a pile of papers, waiting for Maeglin to limp across the room and take them. “These are names, my lord.”

“These are your victims. Every single one, unaccounted for or known to be deceased.”

Maeglin grit his jaw.

“I promised you a lash for each one, did I not?”

“You did, my lord.”

Glorfindel set his quill aside, then looked up at his prisoner. “But I have a dilemma.” Since the other remained silent, he said, “I would not be pleased if you were rendered entirely useless by your beating, so I have a few other ideas.”

He pointed to the chair opposite him. “Sit. We will discuss them.”

Maeglin sat, then looked at Glorfindel apprehensively. He pushed a paper across to Maeglin, then handed him a quill. “You will write down each option, then state the arguments for and against it.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Option one: I deliver all the strikes at once.”

Maeglin’s eyes widened, but he wrote that obediently.

“Now, what is the arguments for it?”

“It would be over quickly,” Maeglin suggested. “And it would be very brutal, which my lord enjoys.”

“Good.” Glorfindel smiled. “Now, the arguments against?”

“I am not certain I could survive that,” he confessed, looking down at the parchment in front of him. “And, in for my lord’s benefit, I doubt I would be as aware of each strike.”

“Hmm. I suppose I could deliver one strike each day.”

Maeglin gave his arguments more quickly that time, knowing what Glorfindel would expect. “I would be able to feel each strike, acutely, but it would take-” he paused, working out the math on the corner of the page -“thirteen and a half years. Approximately.”

“How many years would five each evening take?” Glorfindel asked.

“Just over two and a half.”

Glorfindel nodded. “That is what I prefer,” he said, leaning back. “But I have another stipulation.”

Clearly nervous, Maeglin set aside the quill and waited to hear Glorfindel’s orders.

“You will take five lashes each night, on top of any others you may have earned for any misbehavior.”

“That is very fair, my lord.”

“I am not done.” Glorfindel slid the list of names toward Maeglin, letting the smith look down at them nervously. “Every morning I will give you five names, and you will memorize them. Every night, you will recite them to me before your punishment. You will also recite all the names from the previous days.”

He could see Maeglin frantically working the numbers in his head, trying to understand.

“Five names on the first day, ten on the second, then fifteen, twenty, and so forth.”

“Yes my lord.”

“And what should your punishment be if you forget a name?”

Maeglin wrung his hands nervously, clearly hating being forced to invent his own punishments. “My lord once forced me to eat a bar of soap.”

Glorfindel smiled. “I did, did I not?” He nodded. “But I do not wish to waste so much soap on you.” He tapped his finger on the desk. “I have a better plan. You will recite the names before supper. Should you fail to recite all the names, you will receive no supper.” 

“As my lord commands.”

“However, you will also be forced to repeat that day on the next day. I will not give you a new list of names until you can remember every single name from previous days. Am I understood?”

“Yes my lord.”

Glorfindel cut a strip from the top page of deaths, then handed it to Maeglin. “Your first five. You have until tonight to memorize them.”

Maeglin bowed and hurried away, the paper clutched in his hands.

“Oh Maeglin,” he called, just as the prisoner had gotten back to the chair he had been sitting in by the fire.

“My lord?”

“Do not think this means I will no longer be taking any pleasure from your body.” He smiled and Maeglin winced.

* * *

That night at dinner, Maeglin knelt beside Glorfindel as he did at every meal, and recited the five names he had been ordered to memorize.

Glorfindel patted him on the head. “You may have supper, tonight, my little cripple.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

After their meal, Glorfindel took Maeglin outside. A light snow fell around them as they crossed the yard to Maeglin’s forge. Glorfindel stopped at the door. “Strip and lay over your anvil,” Glorfindel said. “I will meet you shortly.”

Glorfindel went to the stable, selecting a heavy whip that was used on the most stubborn animals, then returned to the forge. Since no one had worked in it that day, there was a chill in the air, and Maeglin seemed to shiver from more than just nerves as Glorfindel approached him.

“You will count each strike and thank me for each one,” Glorfindel said, then landed the whip across Maeglin’s back before he could protest.

“One. Thank you, my lord.”

Crack.

“Two. Thank you, my lord.”

Crack.

“Three. Thank you, my lord.”

Crack.

“Four. Thank you, my lord.”

Crack.

“Five. Thank you, my lord.”

By the last strike, his voice was breaking, but Maeglin continued to count stubbornly until the end, determined to avoid any further punishment. Glorfindel leaned the whip against the wall, then pulled Maeglin to his feet.

“I will not deliver the same punishment every day,” he said, pushing Maeglin toward the door. “Some days I will use my hand, others a whip, I may even use your cane or a poker from the fire.”

“As my lord wishes,” Maeglin whispered softly, bowing his head.

The dark elf was a quick learner, and for the first several weeks, he remembered all the names perfectly. Glorfindel would have found it frustrating, if not for the fact that he knew Maeglin would slip up eventually, he would just have to be patient.


	12. Chapter 12

There was a paper waiting for him when Glorfindel woke, and he barely glanced at it. Then he stopped, stepped back, and his eyes narrowed. 

He walked calmly to Maeglin’s closet, opening the door and then stepping away to dress. After a few moments, Maeglin limped out, leaning on his cane. Glorfindel had started switching between locking Maeglin in the closet and forcing him to sleep in his bed, choosing randomly based on his own moods. The day before he'd let Maeglin get comfortable in bed before saying he'd changed his mind and dragging him away. 

“You lied to me.”

Maeglin’s shoulders tensed and he looked up.

Glorfindel hadn’t acted any different from usual when he’d opened the closet and let Maeglin out. He hadn’t let on what he knew, and the other probably thought he’d gotten away with his crime. It had been weeks since the lie, after all.

“Walk here and tell me about your father’s slave.”

“My lord-”

Glorfindel’s voice took on a warning tone. “Do as you are told.”

Maeglin limped across the room, sitting on Glorfindel’s lap when the other gestured for him to. Glorfindel took his cane and sat it on the couch beside them. He held up the paper that had been brought to him. “I asked someone to bring me any information they could find on your family, and, interestingly, it notes your father was known to have a slave. While you were alive.”

The blonde stroked his dark hair, watching Maeglin’s fear impassively. “I do not like being lied to.”

“I apologize.”

“Perhaps we should have this discussion with a whip in my hand.”

Maeglin’s voice was small as he whispered, “Mercy.”

Glorfindel leaned back, propping up his feet and pulling Maeglin closer. “Tell me your story and then I will decide what to do to you.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“What was his name?”

Maeglin swallowed. “He did not have one,” he confessed finally. “I believe he was owed to father as a debt, though I cannot say for certain. He made my mother uneasy, so Father usually barred him from the house. He slept in the stable with the pigs.”

Glorfindel tried to remember the last time Maeglin had looked that uneasy. A part of him said he ought to feel bad for broaching what was apparently a traumatizing subject, but he pushed it back, reminding himself what Maeglin had done.

“He worked with Father in the forge, carrying supplies and running errands. He was strong.”

“Was your father good to him?” He absentmindedly ran his hand down Maeglin’s back, bringing it to rest on the curve of his ass.

“No.” Maeglin swallowed nervously. “He beat him often. Sometimes for no reason.”

“Did you ever speak to him?”

“He had no tongue.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “Stick out your tongue.”

Maeglin didn’t move so Glorfindel landed a swat on his backside. Quickly the dark elf stuck out his tongue, letting Glorfindel pinch it between two fingers. “I doubt I will ever remove this,” he said after a moment. “I’d like you to use it on me sometime. So as long as you keep it useful, you may keep it.”

Maeglin nodded, and when his tongue was released he whispered, “Thank you, my lord.”

“Continue your story.”

“There is little else to say. He did as he was told or father beat him.”

“Why are you so hesitant to speak of him?” Glorfindel cupped Maeglin’s ass with both hands, squeezing it.

“He died.”

“How?”

Maeglin tried to pull away, but Glorfindel pulled him closer, his nails digging through Maeglin’s thin pants. “Tell me what happened to him, Maeglin.”

“Father made me.” Maeglin’s voice was barely a whisper. His eyes were wide with fear. “I did not want to my lord-”

“You murdered him?” Glorfindel laughed, but there was no real humor in his voice. “You started young, you monster.” He pulled Maeglin closer until he could lick the other’s ear. “Tell me how you did it.”

“When I forged my first knife,” Maeglin said softly. “Father said it ought to be broken in. He called the slave and he came. When ordered, he bared his own chest and showed me where to stab for the cleanest kill.”

“So you stabbed him in the heart?”

“I missed,” his voice was almost a whisper. “Father would not give me a second chance, so he bled out. It took a very long time.” Maeglin looked away and tried to pull off Glorfindel’s lap, but the blonde pulled him back. “He made me bury him. Then he whipped me. He said only a Noldo would kill another elf without hesitation.” His story finished, Maeglin looked away.

Glorfindel picked up Maeglin’s cane and looked at it impassively. “Do you recall what I said when I gave this to you?”

“You said you would beat me with it, my lord.”

“I did.” Glorfindel grinned. “There was something else, little cripple. What was it?”

He could see Maeglin struggling to remember, then watched the horror dawn on his face as he realized what Glorfindel meant. “No!”

“Lower your pants.”

“My lord-”

“If I have to strip you, it will be much less pleasant.”

Maeglin struggled out of his pants, fear shining in his eyes. “Go and lay on the bed.” Glorfindel handed him his cane so he could walk, watching him limp across the room, clinging to what was going to be an instrument of torture. “On your back!” he called after him.

He followed after Maeglin, fetching a bottle of oil. The dark elf was laying on his back, the cane on the bed beside him. Glorfindel pushed his legs up so that his knees touched his shoulders, leaving him spread and exposed. “Hold your legs.” He picked up the cane, running his hand over the head.

“P-please.”

Glorfindel snapped the cane across Maeglin’s exposed ass. “Quiet.” He spread out a towel, then shifted Maeglin so that his bottom was positioned on top of it. “I can’t have you bleeding on my sheets, now can I?” he asked.

Quietly, he poured a bit of oil over the top of the cane, then lined it up with Maeglin’s hole. He considered his options. Shoving it in without preparation would cause the most pain, but it would also mean the longest healing process. Not in the mood for Maeglin to spend days or weeks healing, he slowly pushed it in, giving his muscles plenty of time to adjust as it gradually grew wider.

“How does it feel?” he asked. Maeglin let out a whine. Glorfindel nudged the cane, then said, “Describe it.”

“It’s huge,” he rasped finally, “And long. H-how far in is it?”

“Not too far, I assure you.”

“It stings. P-please.”

“Describe it,” he said again. “Details.”

Maeglin swallowed. “I thought I would surely die when you pushed it in.” He was breathless, but not from pleasure. “It is… odd, because it is large all the way down, it does not taper as most toys would.”

Glorfindel shifted it, watching as Maeglin shivered.

“I imagine it is pressing on my lungs,” he rasped, quivering. “The wood is cold. It, well, it feels like an abnormally large shit,” he confessed finally, his legs shaking. “My instinct is to push it out.”

Glorfindel paused, one eyebrow raised. “Can you?” he asked curiously.

“My lord!” Maeglin squeaked.

“Push,” Glorfindel ordered.

He could tell the other was trying by the way his stomach and hips spasmed, but it was clear the cane was not going anywhere. Curiosity sated, Glorfindel allowed him to stop.

“Lower your feet to the bed,” he said, guiding Maeglin’s legs to lay on either side of the cane. He stood and slipped off the bed, grabbing a rope from his dresser, he tied Maeglin’s hands to the headboard.

“My lord!”

“I will come for you later. If by some miracle, you’ve managed to remove the cane, I will reinsert and we will learn exactly how far it can go.” With that, he strode from the room.


	13. Chapter 13

He attended a day of boring meetings, listening to plans for the future of not only Balar, but also the rest of the Noldor.

But he couldn’t get Maeglin’s admission out of his head.

_No wonder Maeglin is a killer_, murmured a voice in his head. _If his father treated him so_.

_Shut up_, he told the voice. _He deserves what he gets_.

Most everyone he knew would agree. It wasn’t unusual for the other leaders to demand updates on Maeglin, and, although he often left out the sexual stories, they enjoyed hearing about Maeglin’s pain.

At some point, as he was lost in thought the meeting adjourned, and he stood to follow the others out.

But a voice stopped him.

“Glorfindel, wait.”

He stopped, turning back easily to smile at the king. Gil-Galad waited until the room cleared, then asked, “How is the city killer?”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “Is that what they’re calling him?” he asked with amusement.

Gil-Galad nodded.

Glorfindel thought for a moment, then said, “He’s been lying to me.”

“Lying?”

“I asked him about Avari slaves. He swore his father never possessed one, but the history books I found proved him wrong. Then he confessed to having killed the slave on his father’s orders.”

The king didn’t seem to know how to respond. He sat for a moment in stunned silence, then said, “What did you do to him?”

“For killing the slave?”

“For lying.” Gil-Galad shook away whatever pity he might have managed, then said, “You need to have him under control if we are to keep him alive.”

“I shoved his cane up his ass.”

Gil-Galad looked surprised. “And how did he respond?”

“I left it when I came to the meeting. I very much doubt he is pleased with me.”

“I might pity him,” the king said, running his hand through his hair. “Were he anyone else.” He shook his head.

He walked beside Glorfindel, back toward the Golden Elf’s house, and they discussed other matters as they walked. “Have you told him yet?” Gil-Galad asked as they stepped into the entry hall.

“About the smith?”

The king nodded.

“I haven’t had the opportunity.”

Gil-Galad met Glorfindel’s eyes, giving him a serious look. “If we must do this, and I fear we have no choice, I want him there.” 

“I agree.”

Maeglin was perfectly still when they entered. He didn’t seem to notice Gil-Galad, calling out, “My lord, please.”

“Spread your legs,” Glorfindel said. “Your king wishes to see you.”

When Maeglin saw Gil-Galad, all the blood drained from his face. He didn’t move his legs, too shocked.

Somehow, the king kept an even face. “Are you well, Lomion?”

“No.”

“Do you think you deserve better?”

“Yes.”

Gil-Galad ran an appraising eye over Maeglin. He hadn’t started to bleed, but there were red lines around his wrists, as though he’d struggled against the ropes. “I don’t.”

“Forgive me,” he said dryly.

“It is not my forgiveness you should be asking,” the king pointed out. He hesitantly reached out and took ahold of the cane, as far from Maeglin as possible, and shifted it slightly.

Maeglin yelped.

“He looks like he has a tail,” Gil-Galad said finally, stepping back.

Glorfindel snorted. “He is rather like a dog,” he remarked.

“Don’t insult dogs. I have many fine hunting beasts myself.”

“A pig then.”

“At least pigs have a good taste. I’d imagine he is nothing but sinew.”

They both looked back at Maeglin, panicking on the bed. “Do cockroaches have tails?” Gil-Galad asked finally.

“This one does,” Glorfindel said.

“I’m not a cockroach!” Maeglin hissed, pulling against the ropes. Gil-Galad pointedly placed his hand back on the cane and Maeglin stiffened. But the king didn’t move to harm him further, he only nodded to Glorfindel and said, “He is yours, my friend.”

Almost as soon as the door closed, Maeglin cried out, “Mercy my lord, please.”

But Glorfindel had no mercy for the killer of Gondolin.

He moved to kneel on the bed, straddling the cane which he grabbed with one hand. “I said I would fuck you with it, not merely fill you,” he said. Then he pulled it out.

Before Maeglin could think he was getting any respite, Glorfindel added more oil, then lined it back up and carefully reinserted it. He watched Maeglin’s face as he began to shift it, waiting until his face screwed up with pleasure as he hit the right spot.

After that, it was easy to tell what to do, and soon Maeglin was writhing and gasping for air, his cock jutting out hard.

But he couldn’t get enough pleasure from the cane alone. Glorfindel untied one of his wrists, then simply said, “Touch yourself.”

Maeglin didn’t need to be told twice, jerking himself off to the same rhythm as Glorfindel’s thrusts.

His cry when he came was a mixture of pain and pleasure.

While he was still in his post-orgasm bliss, Glorfindel slid the cane out of him, removed his own pants, and entered.

Judging by Maeglin’s gasp, he was still raw.

He doubted the other got any pleasure as he fucked him, and when he came Maeglin seemed relieved, relaxing for the first time since that morning.

But Glorfindel wasn’t finished.

The first thing he did was stand and replace his own pants, then he untied Maeglin’s other wrist before moving to sit back beside him on the bed. Using his own seed to slick Maeglin’s passage, he pushed the cane back inside him.

“My lord!”

“Crawl to your closet, little cripple.” He pulled Maeglin from the bed, careful not to injure him too badly as he laid him on the floor. “Run away with your tail between your legs.”

Maeglin trembled as he struggled to move with the cane awkwardly dragging behind him. Glorfindel watched him until he reached his closet where he finally gave up, flopping onto his stomach on the floor.

Grabbing the towel from the bed, Glorfindel followed after him. He knelt beside Maeglin and removed the cane, wiping it clean. Then he rubbed the towel between Maeglin’s legs, wiping away the mess.

“You may sleep, now.”


	14. Chapter 14

When he opened Maeglin’s closet the next morning, he was greeted by an already awake elf. “My lord did not give me any names, yesterday,” Maeglin said softly.

“No,” Glorfindel replied, almost sounding bored. “I suppose I did not.” He turned on his heel and stomped away, motioning for Maeglin to follow behind him. The dark elf limped after him, then let Glorfindel push him onto his stomach on the bed. He said nothing as Glorfindel examined him for injuries, only wincing when a hard slap was applied to his ass.

“Lord Egalmoth is traveling here from Sirion,” Glorfindel said, standing and walking away from the bed. “We have important matters to discuss with him, but he wishes to see you, while he is here.”

Maeglin remained silent.

“Nothing to say?”

“No, my lord.”

Glorfindel threw him a set of clothes. “He will arrive within a few days. You will bow and beg his forgiveness.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You will act as his servant for the duration of his visit, or until he grows bored of you. You will obey his every command.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Glorfindel handed him a list of names, then they went to breakfast. That night, he recited all the names he had learned so far, and only got five lashes for his trouble.

The days before Egalmoth’s visit passed as usual, and Maeglin had almost forgotten that the Lord of The House of the Heavenly Arch was visiting, remembering only at the last minute when the messenger arrived to tell Glorfindel he was there.

“Take off your shirt,” Glorfindel ordered the prisoner.

“My… lord?”

“You heard me. Off with it.”

Maeglin slipped off his tunic hesitantly, and then followed Glorfindel outside into the courtyard. Egalmoth didn’t even look at him as he shivered in the snow, talking with Glorfindel who seemed to have reverted back to his old self.

Egalmoth made no secret of his hatred for Maeglin.

He barely spoke to the smith, yet when he did his eyes burned and he had to look away. Finally, that evening, he sat by the fire in the room Glorfindel had given him and remarked, “I had a wife, you know.”

“I remember her.”

“She was slain.” Egalmoth looked up, his eyes flashing. “Come here.”

Maeglin limped forward, stopping in front of Egalmoth and bowing his head.

“She was pregnant with our first child, and your friends ripped her apart in the street.”

“They weren’t my friends.”

Egalmoth struck him across the face. Maeglin stumbled back, hissing as his weight landed on his injured foot. “Don’t lie to me.”

The warrior stood, stepping closer to Maeglin with anger simmering in his eyes. “I’m disappointed. It seems Glorfindel already broke you.”

“I’m not broken.”

Egalmoth stomped on his foot.

Maeglin bit back a cry of pain.

The lord stormed away, disappearing out into the hall. When he returned, he had a cloth-covered basket. Maeglin didn’t react as the basket was set in front of him.

“I brought your supper.”

Egalmoth pulled the cloth back, and Maeglin’s stomach rolled at the sight of the spoiled fruit. “I am not hungry,” he lied.

“Do you think I give a damn?”

The first bite was the worst, the rotten fruit dissolving into mush in his mouth. But Maeglin forced himself to eat it anyway.

When a worm fell from one of the apples, Egalmoth just said, “Eat that as well.”

When Maeglin choked, feeling as though he was going to vomit, the lord said, “If you throw up, you may eat that as well.”

His stomach felt over full, as though it was going to burst, and he whispered, “My lord, I cannot eat anymore.”

“You will eat all of it.”

Maeglin managed, but just barely, and when the basket was empty he pushed it away. Then Egalmoth gave him something strange tasting to drink and sent him to his cell in the basement.

He spent the rest of the night and the next day writhing in agony. Whatever drink Egalmoth had given him only worsened the sickness from the fruit. His body rebelled against the abuse, and he vomited frequently. What he didn’t vomit came out as messy diarrhea. 

* * *

Glorfindel had been almost amused when Egalmoth had turned up the next morning without Maeglin, simply explaining that the smith wasn’t in any fit state to serve him. “I do hope you haven’t killed him,” he commented, offering his friend a roll.

“Of course not, though I imagine he wishes I did.”

“No.” Glorfindel bit into his own food, chewing thoughtfully. “I suspect he doesn’t. He seems to fear death more than anything.”

“Which is why he hasn’t faded yet, I suppose?”

“I suppose.”

Egalmoth leaned back, pushing his breakfast around on his plate with a scowl. “What do you see in him?”

“Pardon?”

The Lord of the Heavenly Arch scowled. “How can you stand to have that foul creature in your bed?”

“I am not attracted to him if that’s what you’re suggesting.” Glorfindel sipped from his glass, then watched his friend’s face as he said, “But I won’t pretend it doesn’t give me pleasure to humiliate him, and fucking him seems to be the best way to do that.”

Egalmoth seemed to consider, then asked, “What if I would like to try?”

Glorfindel nodded. “By all means.”

“Not now, of course, he’s much too busy shitting his brains out. But later, after the execution perhaps.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “Shitting his brains out?” he asked in disbelief. “My friend what did you do to him?”

After breakfast, he made his way down to Maeglin’s cell, curious to see what had truly become of the injured elf.

He smelled him even before opening the door to Maeglin’s cell and scowled. “You look awful.”

Maeglin looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of him. “My lord,” he pleaded, struggling toward him. “Help me.”

“No, thank you,” Glorfindel replied, wrinkling his nose. He sat on a chair, looking at Maeglin impassively. “Did Lord Egalmoth tell you why he is here?”

“No, my lord.”

“An execution.”

Maeglin stilled.

“Don’t look so nervous. It’s not yours.”

Maeglin still seemed on edge, as though he knew Glorfindel wasn’t going to bring up just any elf’s impending demise. “Whose?”

“Another traitor.” Glorfindel leaned back. “Oh, what was his name? The short one. Blue eyes. High pitched voice.”

“Minastan.”

“So you remember him?” The Golden Elf smiled. “We offered him his life in exchange for servitude, but he spit on Lord Cirdan’s face and rejected our offer.”

“What is to be done to him?” Maeglin asked nervously.

“It has been decided that he will be tied to a weight and throne from the pier.”

“My lord,” he whispered, his hands trembling. He crawled toward Glorfindel, as though he was going to beg, but Glorfindel pushed him back with his foot.

“You will attend.” The fear on Maeglin’s face brought a smile to Glorfindel’s. “It will take place in two days, at noon.”

“Please-” Maeglin whispered.

“You will not speak or attempt any communication with him or anyone else. If I even suspect communication, I will beat you in front of everyone, do you understand?”

“My lord please - he is my friend!”

It was the wrong words. Glorfindel’s fingers wrapped around Maeglin’s throat, pulling him close. “You kill all my friends you wretched crippled,” he snarled. “And I will take great pleasure in watching yours die in front of you.”

He released Maeglin’s neck, then looked down at his hand in disgust. “Lick my hand clean.”

Maeglin did as he was told, still too fearful to argue.

“If you’re quite done soiling yourself, I will let you bathe and rest tomorrow. I want you in good shape for the execution.”

“Yes, my lord,” he whispered weakly.

He spent that night in his cell, and, as promised, he was allowed to bathe the next day, then was taken back to Glorfindel’s room.

“Come here,” Glorfindel ordered.

Maeglin limped forward.

“You’re thin,” the golden elf remarked, his eyes glancing up Maeglin. “Food poisoning doesn’t suit you.”

“No, sir.”

“Do you remember what we are going to do, tomorrow?”

“Yes sir,” he whispered.

“Good.”Glorfindel smiled at him. “Don’t you forget, you horrible cripple.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to CrystalNavy for suggesting rotten fruit
> 
> minastan means “Smith of the Tower.” It’s a name I’ve used before, but he’s not the same as the minastan from my other story, I’m just too lazy to find more names.


	15. Chapter 15

He heard Maeglin through the night, weeping quietly in his small closet. But Glorfindel ignored him each time and would roll over and go back to sleep.

When morning came, he pulled the exhausted elf from his closet. They walked to breakfast in silence, and Maeglin barely seemed interested in the food Glorfindel gave him.

“Let me speak to him,” Maeglin whispered as he knelt beside Glorfindel. His hands knotted in the blonde’s trousers. “Please. I can change his mind. He will serve the king-”

“I made it clear what will happen if you communicate with him, did I not?”

“I could gain you another smith-”

“We don’t need him.” Glorfindel reached out to run a hand down Maeglin’s hair. “I would rather watch your face when he dies.”

“My lord please.” Maeglin’s hands went for Glorfindel’s pants, as though he was seriously considering sucking him off where anyone could walk in at any time.

Glorfindel considered letting him do it, just to kill his friend anyway, but he decided he wasn’t in the mood for voyeurism. Instead, he grabbed Maeglin’s short hair and pulled him back.

“When we arrive you will bow to Gil-Galad and thank him for sparing your wretched life. Then you will sit and my feet and watch him die. And when it is done, you will bow to the king again and wish him good health.” He paused, then snarled, “Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Glorfindel spent the morning in his study, Maeglin sitting silently beside him. Occasionally his shoulders would tremble, as though he was holding back tears, but he always straightened and stiffened his spine.

When noon drew close, Glorfindel led him to the stable where a horse had already been saddled.

Glorfindel mounted, then offered Maeglin a hand. The elf seemed surprised, but he let himself be lifted into the saddle.

“I doubted you would be able to walk that far, and as amusing as it would be to watch you try, we are on a schedule.” He wrapped his arms around Maeglin, holding the reigns tightly with one hand, the other holding Maeglin’s shirt.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Tell me, what will you do?”

“When we arrive I will bow to the king and thank him for his kindness in sparing me. I will watch the execution. I will not attempt any communication with him. After I will bow to the king again and wish him good health.” His voice was monotone and he stared head numbly.

“And if you disobey me?”

“I will be beaten in front of everyone.”

“Good.” Glorfindel tapped his heels into his horse’s side and they trotted out of the stable. “Keep your head down like a good cripple. Put on a show. The people need to know you’re in pain if you don’t prove it, I will.”

The execution was a somber affair. They were exceedingly rare among elves. Until the fall of Gondolin and dealing with the traitors that remained, the only execution anyone could remember was Eol’s.

But it seemed a fair number were interested.

Maeglin was barely able to walk after they dismounted, trailing after Glorfindel and trying not to look at anyone.

It was clear he’d been recognized. Whispers followed them as they walked, Glorfindel easily ignored them, but as someone offered a suggestion that involved roasting Maeglin alive and forcing him to eat his own dick, he slowed. “Walk in front of me,” he said.

As much as he liked to threaten to let people have their way with Maeglin, he wasn’t interested in having a scene caused at the execution.

Glorfindel gave Gil-Galad a bow, but the king waved it away, motioning for him to sit at his side. Maeglin stepped forward and fumbled with his cane. He lost his balance when he attempted to bow and ended up on his knees instead. “Your majesty,” he said, pressing his forehead to the floor. “Thank you for sparing my life.”

Glorfindel saw him lick his lips, saw him swallow, and knew he was about to do something exceedingly foolish.

“You are a just and noble king, I would beg one question of you.”

To his credit, Gil-Galad seemed amused. “It seems you have already asked me a question, CityKiller, but ask me another anyway.”

“Minastan followed me because he believed in me, not because he wished for death. If you would spare him, he would serve you honorably.”

Gil-Galad raised an eyebrow. “So because he is loyal to a murderer, I should spare him?”

“Please.”

The king shook his head. “Kindness is one thing, but sparing him would be foolish, Lomion. He will be executed.”

Maeglin’s shoulders slumped and he moved to kneel beside Glorfindel. The golden elf pretended to lean forward to look at something in the distance, but hissed into Maeglin’s ear, “You are doomed.”

Maeglin said nothing.

He watched as they led the smith out, then clipped his chains to a weight. “Lord Maeglin!” he shouted when he saw his lord, pulling against the weights.

Maeglin kept his back straight and stared straight ahead, even as everyone turned to look, hoping for some kind of reaction from him.

Then, with little preamble, they shoved the weight from the pier.

For a moment, it seemed Minastan was going to be able to keep his balance, despite the weight pulling him back, then he slipped. His fingers scrambled for purchase on the wood, and he shouted for Maeglin again, but then he lost his grip and vanished.

Maeglin raced forward, stumbling, his cane forgotten.

No one tried to stop him until he reached the edge of the pier, acting as though he was going to throw himself after his friend. The soldier who had shoved the weight grabbed him, holding him back and looking around for instruction.

A hush had fallen over the crowd, everyone, including the young king, waited to see what happened.

Glorfindel strode after him quickly and was at his side soon enough to see the bubbles stoping as Minastan stopped breathing.

Maeglin screamed, fighting against the soldier who had stopped him. “Let him go,” Glorfindel said after a moment’s thought. He was curious to see what Maeglin did.

But he seemed to give up as they released him, slumping to the ground and staring into the depths. “He’s dead.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel said cooly. “He’s dead.” He looked to Gil-Galad. “How many deaths did he confess to, my liege?”

Cirdan spoke for him, “He claims to have killed twenty personally.”

“His death won’t bring them back.” Maeglin retorted. Someone in the crowd gasped.

Glorfindel shrugged. “Does anyone else feel that we should have spared him?”

Not a single person spoke.

Gil-Galad approached them, holding out a key to Maeglin. “Go and fetch his body,” he said. “This will unlock the weight.”

Maeglin looked into the water, hesitant.

“It isn’t deep,” the king said. “Nor is the current strong. And if you do this, I will ignore your insults today.”

Maeglin took the key and bowed his head. “As my king commands,” he said. He pulled off his shirt and whispers started as they saw the scars on his back and his bony, underfed appearance. But no one seemed to pity him as he jumped into the freezing water.

The whispers turned to talk as he vanished, and Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “I wanted to see what he would do,” Gil-Galad explained. He seemed almost excited, giddy about making someone else do his bidding.

It was a stark reminder of how young he was.

Maeglin’s head bobbed above the water, but he disappeared down again after taking a breath.

The next time he broke the surface, he had Minastan slung over his shoulder. A soldier grabbed the body and Glorfindel grabbed Maeglin, pulling him onto the pier.

“Look at him,” Glorfindel said softly. Maeglin’s eyes darted to the body beside him, taking it in with wide eyes.

Minastan had clearly fought the weight, as evidenced by cuts and welts under his shackles. His eyes bulged out and his tongue flopped onto his cheek.

Maeglin swallowed, shaking, although if it was fear or cold, Glorfindel wasn’t sure. Then he turned to Gil-Galad and knelt once again. “Thank you for your kindness,” he said.

The excitement died down after that, nothing was more interesting than seeing Maeglin grovel before the king, so people filtered away.

Maeglin just sat numbly beside the body.

Glorfindel tried to hand him his cane, having fetched it from beside their seat. “Maeglin,” he said, snapping fingers in front of Maeglin’s face. “Get up, little cripple.”

But Maeglin was stroking Minastan’s hair.

Finally, Glorfindel gave up, grabbing Maeglin and dragging him away. That seemed to break the spell, and after a moment Maeglin said, “I can walk my lord.”

He took his cane and struggled beside Glorfindel.

Rather than invite him to ride, Glorfindel mounted alone, then rode away, leaving Maeglin in the care of soldiers who had been told to bring him back unharmed.

Surprisingly they managed to obey, and not long after Glorfindel reached his rooms, Maeglin stepped into the doorway, still quiet and almost expressionless.

“You may have paid your debts to Gil-Galad by retrieving the body, but you disobeyed me,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

“I accept my punishment,” Maeglin whispered, bowing his head.

But Glorfindel couldn’t find it in himself to strike at him, not as long as Maeglin was still trembling from the cold. “Fetch me a towel.”

Clearly Maeglin expected punishment because he spread the towel on the bed, but instead, Glorfindel called, “Bring it here.”

Maeglin limped to him, his head hanging as he waited for his punishment.

But instead, Glorfindel wrapped him in it. “Dry off and change before bed. You may keep your blanket.”

“Yes my lord.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter for (off-screen) non-consensual beastality. Nothing is described in detail.

The next morning when Glorfindel opened the closet door, Maeglin just sat there. His eyes were glazed slightly, but he didn’t appear to be sleeping.

“Get up.”

“He was my friend,” the smith whispered, his eyes remaining unfocused.

Glorfindel cocked his head. “Did you sleep?”

“No, my lord.” Maeglin blinked and his eyes finally focused. “I keep seeing his body.”

“That was the point of it.” He sighed and knelt beside Maeglin who didn’t flinch as he was picked up and carried. Glorfindel dropped Maeglin into his bed and tucked the blanket around him. There was no point in attempting to force him into his daily duties if he was so exhausted. In that state, he was just a liability.

“Sleep,” he ordered. “And if you even consider running, I will break your other foot.”

He waited for several hours before returning to his room, and he was startled to find that Maeglin was still in his bed, curled into the blankets and seemingly asleep. But as soon as he heard Glorfindel, he sat up.

“My lord,” he whispered, bowing his head.

Something was off. He wasn’t fighting anymore. Wasn’t resisting. He didn’t seem like a murderer, even if that’s what he was. Glorfindel tried to swallow his growing curiosity at what his mental state must be like, instead stepping forward to see how far he could push Maeglin.

“Someone has asked for an evening with you.”

Maeglin stilled. “My- my lord?” His eyes darted around the room curiously, as though expecting the mystery man to step out of the shadows at any given point.

“I told him that you were a good fuck and he wishes to confirm it for himself.” Glorfindel motioned for Maeglin to make room for him, pulling the other to sit on the bed beside him. “He asked if you were as good when you gave yourself willingly, and I said I did not know.” Carefully he pulled the smith so that he was sitting on his lap, legs wrapped around Glorfindel’s waist.

He half expected Maeglin to burst out his favorite insult, that Glorfindel was a rapist, but he said nothing.

The golden elf kept pushing, “However, I would like to know.”

“My lord-”

“I have a better plan.” He ran his fingers through Maeglin’s short hair. “Lay with me, willingly, and I will keep you to myself.”

“No.”

“Then I will tie you down and call him in.” He pressed his lips to Maeglin’s ear, whispering, “Lord Egalmoth wants to see you scream, my lovely little cripple. He wants your blood.”

Maeglin’s shoulders trembled, then slumped in defeat. “What does my lord wish of me?” His voice was monotonous and flat, clearly accepted his fate. 

Glorfindel pulled him closer, kissing him experimentally. Maeglin didn’t return the kiss, but he also didn’t fight.

Then he started to weep.

It wasn’t the frightened tears that Glorfindel was used to getting from him, the ones that he had to rip from him with awhip. Nor was it the muffled kind that he tried to hide.

Maeglin’s shoulders shook as he sobbed, pressing his fist into his mouth as though that would help. “For-forgive me,” he choked out between gasps. “My lord, please. Don’t call Lord Egalmoth.”

Glorfindel pushed him onto his back, and even through his tears Maeglin tried to open his legs to accommodate him, but rather than strip him, the golden elf crawled so that he laid on top of him, pushing him into the bed.

“Why do you weep?”

“I don’t want to be fucked!” He cried out. “I want to hate you! I want to hate everyone!” He fell silent quickly, as though afraid of retaliation for his words.

Glorfindel stroked his cheek, “Take a deep breath and tell me the truth my little cripple. For today, I will not punish you for your words.”

He struggled to calm himself, but once his sobs had settled to just tears, Maeglin started talking again. “I don’t want you to give me to someone else. I don’t want you to fuck me with that cane or the plug or until I bleed. But I like when you touch me, even though you hurt me.” He shivered, curling into Glorfindel. “I want to please you even though I hate you.”

Glorfindel felt sick. Maeglin wasn’t supposed to want him.They were enemies. Maeglin was a murderer and a traitor. “Are you growing to love me, little cripple?” he asked softly, leaning forward so that his hair hung over the smaller elf’s face.

“No!”

“Then why are you crying for my touch?” He ran his hand down Maeglin’s cheek even as his heart pounded in his chest. Whatever this was, whatever Maeglin was feeling for him, it needed to be stopped.

Now.

He leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. “I’m going to enjoy listening to you scream when Egalmoth takes you.”

“No!” Maeglin whispered, his eyes widening in fear. “My lord you promised!”

“I changed my mind,” he replied simply, swinging off the bed. He drug Maeglin after him, even as the elf twisted and protested.

Good.

He was fighting again. That was what he was supposed to do.

He pulled Maeglin down the hall to Egalmoth’s room, pausing long enough to call out a greeting before pushing open the door. The Lord of the Heavenly Arch looked up in surprise. “Here he is,” Glorfindel said, pushing Maeglin forward as the smith continued to struggle. “All yours, as promised.”

* * *

The next morning Glorfindel stood outside his house and said farewell to Egalmoth, bidding him to write. Neither of them mentioned Maeglin, and so he wasn’t certain what he would find when he returned inside, striding down the hall to Egalmoth’s former room. He hadn’t heard a single noise from Maeglin all night, which had unnerved him slightly.

When he entered, he didn’t seem him.

Curious, Glorfindel stepped into the room, then crossed the room and threw open a window. Still no sign of him.

He frowned. Although he hadn’t explicitly told Egalmoth not to kill him, he had thought that was a given. But Maeglin clearly wasn’t in the room. He was about to leave when he heard a noise from behind him. Glorfindel knelt and peered under the bed.

Terrified eyes peered back at him.

He pulled Maeglin out from under the bed, even as he thrashed and tried to hold onto the bed frame, clearly not wanting to be removed. A cursory glance revealed that Maeglin didn’t appear to have anything besides scratches on his body, but something had clearly rattled him. 

He tossed Maeglin over his lap so that his bare ass face upwards, and pushed two fingers into his hole experimentally. He was met with little resistance, but without taking a closer look he couldn't tell if there was any blood. Maeglin let out a long whine. 

“What is it?” Glorfindel demanded. “I didn’t hear you last night, so it could not have been that bad.”

“We weren’t here.” It was the first Maeglin had spoken since Glorfindel had found him, but it failed to answer most of his questions.

“What happened?” He pulled out his fingers, wiping them on his pants.

“He said I was too foul to rape,” Maeglin whispered, his shoulders shaking. “Tell me they’re gone?”

“He left this morning. And I beg to differ, by the state of your ass.” 

“He took me to the kennel,” Maeglin whimpered, scrambling so that he was upright in Glorfindel's lap. “There was a female in heat, so he took her out and-” The smith stumbled over his words. “They rubbed some sort of scent on me, so I would smell like her and-” He pressed his face to Glorfindel’s chest. “He and his men just _watched_.”

Glorfindel looked down at him in surprise. “He let the dogs rape you?”

Maeglin whined. “I thought I was there again-”

“Where?”

“Angband.” As if thinking he’d said too much, he pushed himself from Glorfindel and stumbled from the room.

He found Maeglin easily enough, the elf was still naked and had fled into the closet in Glorfindel’s room, curling into a ball and shaking. “Are you injured?”

“Please don’t touch me, my lord,” he whispered.

Glorfindel ignored him, kneeling in front of him and pulling his legs apart.

Maeglin panicked. “I will use my mouth if that is what my lord wishes!”

“Hush Maeglin. You are bleeding, and since I don’t want you to die just yet, I am going to treat it.”

Maeglin clung to him again, whimpering quietly as Glorfindel cared for his wounds. When he was finished, he laid Maeglin down in his bed and ordered, “Sleep.”


	17. Chapter 17

He’d pushed too far.

Maeglin had finally broken.

There was no fight left in him, he was quiet, no longer fighting, not arguing. He seemed to have accepted his fate as Glorfindel’s slave.

The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower didn’t like it and made up his mind to force Maeglin to talk back. 

“Come here,” he called, leaning back in his chair. Maeglin limped forward, sitting on his lap without being asked, letting him stroke his dark hair. “Speak truthfully,” he said, “do you hate me?”

Maeglin bit his lip, then murmured, “Sometimes, my lord.”

“Do you fear me?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Would you do anything I told you?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You would tell me anything I demanded of you?”

Maeglin stiffened, but then he whispered, “Yes, my lord.”

“Very well,” Glorfindel patted his back. “Tell me about Angband.”

“My lord?” Maeglin’s head twisted, looking at Glorfindel with shock and confusion on his face.

“You said Lord Egalmoth’s men reminded you of Angband. Why?”

Maeglin chewed on his lip, considering his answer. Before he could speak, Glorfindel said, “Actually, I want you to start at the beginning. How and when did you leave the city?”

“I slipped out through the mines while searching for ore. I didn’t intend to.” Maeglin shivered slightly, leaning into Glorfindel. “A band of orcs caught me.”

“How did you get to Angband?”

The smith shifted uncomfortably on Glorfindel’s lap, pursing his lips. “I convinced them to take me.”

Glorfindel’s nails dug into Maeglin’s shoulders. “Why?” he asked harshly. 

“So they wouldn’t eat me.” He pushed his face into Glorfindel’s shoulder. “They tied me to a stick and put me over the fire. It was so hot, I just wanted it to be over.”

“And so you told them what?”

“That I was too valuable to eat.” He whined quietly. “I would have said anything to make them stop. And so they drug me to Angband, to Morgoth himself.”

He drug Maeglin back by his hair, forcing him to meet his face. “And you told them how to enter the city?”

Maeglin shook his head, frightened. “No! They forced me-”

“How?” He leaned forward until his nose almost touched Maeglin’s. “Tell me why you betrayed us, you horrible creature.”

Maeglin didn’t move, still staring at Glorfindel with wide, frightened eyes. “He gave me to his lieutenant. To Sauron.” A shiver ran through him. “He tortured me for days but I didn’t give in.”

“So they offered you Idril-”

“He raped me.”

“And you chose not to fade?”

“He is a Maia. He wouldn’t let me. But when he took me, I panicked, the walls I’d built around my mind slipped, and he pushed inside. He couldn’t find the entrance to Gondolin, though. I’d hidden that too well. So instead he showed me things. Things I wanted. Things he would give me. And so I showed him what he wanted to see.”

For a long time, Glorfindel was silent, then he pulled back, leaning against the back of the couch. “You know my rules, Maeglin,” he said finally, looking at back at the dark elf. “I want details.”

“My lord-”

“Tell me what it was like when he took you.”

Maeglin swallowed, looking down and refusing to meet Glorfindel’s eyes. “He took me to dinner,” he whispered. “He had me cleaned and dressed in finery. He offered me food and drink - they’d been starving me, my lord, I was desperate! Then he called for desert, and some of his servants - they were elves, I think, but their eyes were missing - came in.”

He took a deep breath, and when he continued speaking there were tears in his voice. “They cleared the table and then left.”

“What was the desert?” Glorfindel asked, speaking for the first time.

Maeglin shivered. “Me,” he whispered. “He laid me over the table and took me from behind, and all the while he told me what we’d been eating.” He swallowed, looking as though he was going to be sick. “He’d fed me the remains of elves.”

Despite himself, Glorfindel ran a hand down Maeglin’s back, soothing him.

“And then his servants returned, bringing bones with them. They laid them out on the table as he raped me, making me look at them. I felt like I was being watched by all the hollow skulls.” He exhaled sharply. “And after I had told them, they sent me back to Gondolin.”

“Why did you not warn us?”

“Because I wanted what he had shown me.” Maeglin shrugged. “I won’t pretend I didn’t.”

Glorfindel looked away and for a long time he didn’t speak. Then he met Maeglin’s eyes. “What if I sent you back to him?” He waited to see if that would be enough to push Maeglin into fighting back. But the elf remained silent. 

Maeglin paled, his eyes widening.

“I could, you know. The next time we see an orc raid, I could take you to them and let them take you to their masters.” But Glorfindel shook his head. “I’d rather keep you here.” 

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Do you wish to show your gratitude?” Glorfindel asked. Maeglin nodded hesitantly. “Go and fetch the plug you made.”

Maeglin flinched in fear, but he limped to his closet, returning a moment later with the plug gripped tightly in his hand. “My lord-”

“Lay on the bed,” he ordered. “Insert it yourself.”

As always, his prisoner hastened to obey. Maeglin grabbed a vial of oil from Glorfindel’s dresser, then laid on the bed and slid out of his pants. Glorfindel picked up a report he’d been reading earlier, ignoring him as he struggled to insert the plug.

Finally, after several minutes where the only noise Maeglin made was whimpers and grunts, he called out, “I am finished, my lord.”

“Come here.”

Maeglin walked toward him, but stopped just in front of the Golden Lord, his head bowed and waiting for a command. “Not long after you arrived in the city we were in the library with lord Penlod. You struck him.”

“I remember, my lord.”

“Do you recall what your uncle did to you?”

“He called me a spoiled brat, my lord.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “That was what he said, but what did he do?”

Maeglin’s face flushed red, clearly remembering well what his uncle had done. “He put me over his knee and paddled me, my lord.”

“I recall Idril entering the library while you were still weeping over his lap.”

Maeglin grit his teeth but said nothing. 

“I’d never seen you so embarrassed. Of course, at the time I was embarrassed for you. You barely knew any of us and yet your uncle spanked you like a child in front of two lords of the city. You were easy to pity, then.” If Glorfindel was honest with himself, Maeglin was still easy to pity.

“I was not pleased, my lord.” 

“Shall I spank you while you wear the plug?”

“If it pleases you, my lord.”

Glorfindel tipped his head back, watching him curiously. “I could invite the king to watch,” he suggested. “Or I could let him deliver the punishment in front of his court. Would you like that?”

“If I enjoyed it, it would not be a punishment, my lord.”

“There is a festival in two days time. Perhaps I will offer you to him then.” Maeglin said nothing, still studying his feet. He wasn’t truly planning on it, and, despite Gil-Galad’s recent actions and forcing Maeglin to retrieve his friend’s body, he doubted the king would accept even if it was offered.

“Did your father ever spank you?”

Maeglin grit his teeth. “No, my lord.”

“How did he punish you?”

“He favored his belt, my lord.”

“What about your mother?”

He could Maeglin was growing increasingly uncomfortable with their line of discussions. “She never punished me, my lord.”

“A pity,” Glorfindel said. “Perhaps if she had you would have been a better-behaved child.”

Maeglin said nothing.

Leaning back, Glorfindel said, “But all of that aside, I believe you owe me names, Maeglin. Have you memorized the five I gave you this morning?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Sit in my lap to recite them.”

Maeglin straddled his lap, then began to recite all the names Glorfindel had forced him to memorize. He waited until the smaller elf was about halfway through the list, then reached around and tweaked the plug. Maeglin stiffened but kept reciting.

Glorfindel wriggled the plug more firmly, eliciting a quiet gasp from Maeglin. But the dark elf was determined, and kept reciting even as Glorfindel messed with the toy.

He made it until the new names, but only managed two of them. Glorfindel pulled his hand back. “Have you forgotten them, little cripple?” he asked curiously.

“Forgive me, my lord.”

“Very well,” Glorfindel said, landing a swat on Maeglin’s bottom. “It was only a matter of time until you failed. You recall what this means, yes?”

“I will receive no supper and tomorrow I will recite the same names over again, my lord.”

Glorfindel smiled. “Good. But you will still receive your five strikes tonight. Plus five for forgetting. And ten for letting the Maia fuck you.” 

“I did not will it, my lord.”

“Five more for talking back.”

Maeglin clamped his mouth shut.

“Tonight you will choose your punishment,” Glorfindel said. “I can take you out to the stable and bullwhip you until you bleed, or I can put you over my knee like a disobedient child.”

“Does my lord enjoy children?” As soon as Maeglin said it, Glorfindel saw the regret on his face. “My lord I-”

“Silence,” he snarled. At least he’d succeeded in pushing some manner of fight back into Maeglin. That had been his goal in humiliating him, after all. It would be easier to deliver his punishment now. “Come with me.”

Maeglin shook as he followed Glorfindel through the house and out into the yard. He took him into the stables and forced him to undress before leaning him over a saddle rack.

Then he picked up a riding crop. “Count.”

Maeglin counted each blow, thanking him after each one. Glorfindel landed the blows from his upper back down to his thighs, and by the time it was over he was only being held up by the saddle rack.

“You will spend the night here,” he said. “My men know not to touch you, but they will enjoy seeing you with naked and beaten with a toy in your ass.”

“Please my lord-”

“Tomorrow, if I am in a pleasant mood, I will allow you to return inside. If I am not, you will remain out here until I take pity on you.”

“My lord it is cold-”

“I don’t give a damn,” he said, and stormed from the stables.


	18. Chapter 18

Glorfindel had a hard time sleeping.

It made him uncomfortable, thinking that he and Sauron had both done similar tortures to Maeglin. _I’m not Sauron_, he told himself. _He deserved what he got from me_.

But he couldn’t shake the image of Maeglin weeping under Sauron after having been forced to eat another elf, out of his mind.

When he went to fetch Maeglin the next morning, the smith was clearly distressed. “Did you have a good night, Maeglin?” he asked, stopping in the doorway.

“No, my lord, I did not.”

“Did anyone touch you?”

“No, my lord.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He helped Maeglin up and wrapped a shirt around him before leading him from the stable. Back inside the house, there was already food waiting in the dining room, and Maeglin’s eyes widened and he licked his lips when he saw it.

When Glorfindel sat he moved to kneel beside him as he always did, but the golden lord shook his head. “Sit beside me,” he said, pushing out a chair with his foot.

Maeglin hadn’t sat at a table to eat in months, and he almost didn’t seem to know what to do, especially as Glorfindel pushed a plate toward him and said, “Eat your fill.”

He didn’t need to say anything else, Maeglin dove into the food enthusiastically. Glorfindel didn’t chide him when he ate with his hands, or when he licked his fingers between bites.

“Do you regret it?” he asked. “Giving us away?”

Maeglin froze, a roll lifted partway to his mouth. “I want to eat,” he whimpered. He seemed to be asking, _what do I need to say to keep this food? _For a moment, Glorfindel considered snatching the food from his hand, just because he could. But what would it gain him? 

“I’m not going to stop you,” Glorfindel promised after a moment's thought. “I mean that. But I want to know: do you regret it?”

“Yes.” Maeglin looked down, setting down the roll he’d been eating. “I’m not just saying that my lord,” he said. “I mean it.”

“When did you start regretting it?”

“As soon as I’d said anything.”

“Why didn’t you warn us?”

“Because I wanted it!” he said, looking up with fear in his eyes. “And because- because I was afraid.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I thought you would kill me like you killed my father.”

Would they have? If Maeglin had gone to Turgon and confessed, what would they have done? Turgon would have wanted leniency, but there would have been plenty more who would have called for his death. Glorfindel stood, placing his hand on Maeglin’s shoulder. “Eat your fill and then go to my study,” he said, “I will meet you there later.”

He spent most of his day in meetings with the king, not returning to his study until well past noon.

Maeglin was sprawled in a chair, one hand on his stomach. “Ate too much?” Glorfindel asked, amusement coloring his tone.

“Yes, my lord,” he whispered.

Glorfindel sat beside him, pulling Maeglin so that his back was pressed against his chest, and wrapped his arms around him to rub his stomach.

“What are you doing?” Maeglin asked, quickly adding, “My lord.”

“Hush,” Glorfindel replied. The truth was, he didn't know. A part of him wanted to shove Maeglin away, to snarl at him or call him a monster. Instead, he pulled Maeglin closer, enjoying the way the smith hesitantly leaned into him. He had held him before, of course, but those times had always ended in suffering for Maeglin.

His hand paused, pressing against Maeglin’s side where the tunic’s pockets were.

Then he let out a snort. “How much food did you put in your pockets?” he asked, slipping his hand into the pocket and pulling out a roll that had been on the table when he'd left.

Maeglin flushed. “As much as I could? I’m sorry, my lord. I know I shouldn’t have.” He lowered his head, clearly expecting the food to be taken away and to be punished for stealing it. 

The golden lord only laughed, reaching up to tug off the tunic, laying it aside and at the same time turning Maeglin to face him. It was easier than emptying the pockets. Maeglin didn’t flush as he was exposed again, having gotten used to Glorfindel stripping him. But he did start to turn pink when Glorfindel pulled a tart from the tunic’s pocket and held it out to him. “Eat.”

“I’m not certain I can, my lord,” he said, looking slightly queasy. 

“Just one bite, little cripple,” he said.

Maeglin carefully took a bite, chewing it thoroughly before swallowing. “Thank you, my lord,” he whispered.

Glorfindel shifted and his knee bumped into Maeglin’s ass. The smith hissed in pain and Glorfindel froze. “You’re still wearing the plug,” he said.

“Yes, my lord.”

He hadn’t meant to leave it that long. It had slipped his mind. He frowned. “Spread your knees.”

Maeglin was still naked, so there was nothing to stop the golden elf from reaching between his cheeks and finding the base of the plug.

“Lean on me and relax,” he said.

Maeglin’s arms wrapped around his neck and he pressed against him. Carefully, Glorfindel took the end and twisted it, making sure that it was as loose as possible before very gently beginning to tug on it. “Shhh,” he murmured as Maeglin started to tense. “I’ve got you.”

As carefully as he could, not wanting to tear Maeglin, he slipped the plug out, then patted his bottom.

He couldn’t stop himself from slipping two fingers inside.

Maeglin stiffened slightly from the intrusion, but as Glorfindel quickly found his prostate, rubbing his fingers against it, he let out a long whine and pressed against him. The smith's face turned red as Glorfindel pleasured him. 

When it was over, neither of them spoke. Glorfindel still wasn’t sure what he’d done - or why - and Maeglin just tucked his face into Glorfindel’s neck and went still. Did it remind him of Sauron? Glorfindel sighed, reasoning that the Maia wouldn't have let him feel any pleasure at all.

No doubt the smith thought it was another of Glorfindel’s games, trying to humiliate him or something of the sort, but he hadn’t actually planned it. It had just happened.

A part of him had wanted to apologize for leaving the plug in that long. 

He shook his head, struggling to clear it. He shouldn’t have felt bad, he told himself. He should pick the plug back up and force it back in, then hold the little traitor down and beat him. Or push the plug in until it got lost inside him. Maybe kick him in the stomach until he vomited.

Or he could humiliate Maeglin by bathing him again.

The smaller elf had never grown used to having Glorfindel in the tub with him, and he always seemed uncomfortable with it. Of course, his desire to wash him had nothing to do with how sticky his fingers were from Glorfindel’s seed, or how he still seemed cold and dirty from being in the stables all night. That was what he told himself, anyway. It was easier than admitting the guilt that was growing in his stomach. 

“You need to bathe,” he said firmly, making up his mind.

“My lord?”

“Go to my bathing chamber and run a bath. I will be there shortly.” As an afterthought, so it didn’t sound like too friendly of an offer, he added, “if you’re good perhaps I will allow you to pleasure me again.”

* * *

The water was nearly overflowing when he entered.

Glorfindel hurried forward, turning off the tap and then letting some of the water drain out. Then he looked for Maeglin.

The dark elf was standing as far from the bath as he could, staring straight ahead.

Maeglin’s eyes were fixated, not on Glorfindel, but on the bath. His lips moved soundlessly, forming a word, and it took a moment for Glorfindel to understand.

_Minastan_.

“Maeglin,” he said loudly, trying to draw his attention.

“My lord-”

“Come here.”

Maeglin didn’t move, rooted to the spot in terror.

“Come here,” Glorfindel repeated. “Now before I am forced to fetch you.”

Maeglin stumbled forward and Glorfindel caught him. “Undress me,” he told him quietly. “Focus on me, not on the water.”

“My lord, I can’t.”

Glorfindel grabbed him by his hair, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Yes, you can,” he told him. “If you take a bath with me, I won’t whip you tonight. If you refuse, I will take you to the stables again. Am I clear?”

Maeglin swallowed. “Yes my lord.” His fingers fumbled with Glorfindel’s clothes, struggling them off and then folding them neatly.

Glorfindel stepped into the bath, then sat on the bench and held out his hands to Maeglin.

He moved slowly, methodically, keeping his eyes raised above the water as he stepped in. Glorfindel grabbed him as soon as he was close enough and pulled him into his lap.

Maeglin still wouldn’t lower his eyes to look at the water. “I can’t,” he whispered.

“Yes, you can. And you will. Unless you want to be whipped in front of everyone.”

He picked up a cloth and a bar of soap, soaping up the cloth before running it over Maeglin’s shoulders carefully. The smaller elf remained perfectly still as Glorfindel bathed him, even when he washed between his legs.

“Look at me, Maeglin,” he said softly. Dark eyes moved to him in a flash. “I want you to put your head underwater.”

“No!”

“Maeglin,” he said softly. “Just dunk your head.”

“Please.”

“Your hair needs to be washed. I’m going to push you under.”

“My lord-”

Glorfindel put his hand over Maeglin’s mouth and nose to keep the water out, then shoved him under. He pulled him up as quickly as he could, pulling the panicking elf to his chest and rubbing his back.

“You’re fine,” he said.

Maeglin started to sob. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Why are you holding me? Why did you let me eat? Why-” he kept ranting and screaming, pummeling his fists against Glorfindel’s chest.

“Maeglin.” He stroked the elf’s hair. “Get out of the tub and dry off,” he said softly. “Go to my bed and try to sleep.”

“Why?!” Maeglin demanded. "You hate me!" 

His voice took on a firm and warning tone. “Because I told you to, little cripple.” He pushed Maeglin from the tub gently watching as he toweled off and then ran from the room. Once he was alone, Glorfindel cleaned himself, then stepped out of the tub, dried off, dressed, and followed Maeglin.

“I’m sorry I hit you, my lord.” Maeglin was sitting up on the bed, staring at him with wide eyes. “Please don’t- don’t do anything too awful.”

“What would be the right amount of punishment?” he asked.

“Last night you said you were going to put me over your knee.” Maeglin shivered.

“Perhaps. Offer another suggestion.”

“My lord could force me to wear the plug again.” Glorfindel scowled at the suggestion and Maeglin flinched again.

The golden lord sat beside his captive, then sprawled out on the bed, leaning against the headboard. “Come here,” he said, holding out his arms.

Maeglin scrambled to sit on his lap, looking at him with frightened eyes. “Yes, my lord?”

But Glorfindel couldn’t find the strength to do anything to him. “I will put you over my knee tomorrow,” he said finally. “Or perhaps I will use a whip. But for today, I want to rest.”

It was only mid-afternoon, but Glorfindel was too tired to get out of bed. He had too much to think about. “Did they let the orcs rape you?”

“Only Sauron, my lord.”

Glorfindel shifted, leaving a damp spot on his pillow where his hair had been. “How many people have you been with?” he asked.

“Only you and him, my lord.”

“Which did you prefer?”

Maeglin froze, looking at Glorfindel frightened eyes. “My… lord?”

“I asked you a question, little cripple,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“You,” the smaller elf said after a moment. “I prefer you, my lord.”

Glorfindel nodded, shooing Maeglin off his lap. “You may sleep on the couch,” he said, waving him off. “But don’t speak to me, I’m not in the mood for your whining.”


	19. Chapter 19

Glorfindel slept easily, but it was clear Maeglin hadn’t.

The next morning he was on the floor by the couch, curled into a ball with his head under his arms. “Wake up,” Glorfindel said, nudging him with his foot.

Maeglin groaned softly, and Glorfindel bent over, picking him up effortlessly. The smith cried out in surprise, but Glorfindel only deposited him on the bed. “Try to sleep,” he told him. “I will return later.”

He had a meeting with the king, then found himself being pulled into conversations with advisors, and it was well past noon when he finally returned to his home and went to him room to check on Maeglin.

But Maeglin wasn’t there.

Glorfindel turned sharply, his eyes taking in the empty room. There was no sign of him. “Maeglin?” he called, stepping inside. “Little cripple, where are you?”

He must have run.

The golden lord snarled turning sharply on his heel, storming back into his halls and calling for his men to search the house and grounds. _This is what I get for being soft yesterday, _he told himself. But a part of him, a part he kept hidden even to himself, was hoping it was only a misunderstanding.

They found him hiding in the stables. He readily confessed to the men that had found him, admitting he’d been trying to run after one of them had threatened to break his nose.

Glorfindel arrived not long after his confession when they were still holding him to the ground. A crowd had gathered, comprised mostly of members of the House of the Golden Flower, and they looked on curiously as Glorfindel strode forward, standing over Maeglin.

“My lord-”

He pressed his boot to Maeglin’s mouth, and although he’d only meant to silence him, Maeglin seemed to misunderstand, instead pressing apologetic kisses to the underside of his shoe.

Several of the soldiers laughed.

“Get up, you worthless cripple.”

Maeglin scrambled to his feet, bowing his head and staring at the ground. Glorfindel turned to his men, an eyebrow raised. “What should I do with him?” he asked.

Several suggestions were called out, everything from beating him to hanging him naked from the gates. But Glorfindel had a different idea. “Were you going to take a horse?” he asked Maeglin.

“Yes, my lord.”

Recognizing his stable master from the crowd, Glorfindel motioned him forward. “Bring him a horse,” he said, “one that needs exercising.” Then called another man to bring him ropes.

Maeglin’s hands flicked nervously, but he remained quiet. “Strip,” Glorfindel ordered him.

Hoots and cheers rang out from the crowd as Maeglin pulled off his clothes, folding them neatly and putting them into a pile. All the while, his eyes kept darting to the kennels, as though fearful Glorfindel was going to throw him in with the dogs again.

He thought about dragging him to the kennel, just to scare him, but before he could make up his mind, the stable master returned, leading a warhorse named Raumo behind him. “You wanted to run, Maeglin?” he asked, stepping forward to loop the rope around Maeglin’s wrists.

“Yes, my lord,” he murmured as Glorfindel took his cane.

“Very well then, you may run.” He tossed the other end of the rope to the stable master. “Take Raumo for his exercises,” he said. “I’d like to see how long our little runner can keep up.”

Bets passed between the onlookers as Maeglin’s rope was secured to Raumo’s saddle. Most of them seemed to think he would fall within the first lap. “Three laps,” Glorfindel said, giving Maeglin a smile. “If he fails me, I’ll let you all watch me whip him.”

For the first lap, Raumo only walked, slowly warming his muscles, and Maeglin limped behind him. Those who had bet on one lap shouted insults at Maeglin.

They treated it like a horse race, placing bets and calling out to Maeglin, either encouraging him to keep his footing or telling him to fall, depending on how they’d bet.

The second lap Raumo was pushed to a trot, and Maeglin struggled to keep up with him. But he finished that lap as well, although it was becoming clear to the onlookers that he was weakening.

As Raumo moved into a canter, the men grew more excited, jostling against one another in anticipation. Then Maeglin fell.

He stumbled less than a quarter of the way around the track, falling onto his stomach. But the rope on his wrist kept pulling him forward, and Raumo finished the lap, dragging Maeglin behind him.

As the rider pulled up beside where the spectators had gathered, he glanced to Glorfindel. When the lord nodded, he pushed Raumo into a gallop.

Maeglin struggled against the ropes, as though thinking he would be able to pull himself up or perhaps break free, but all he did was roll back and forth, flipping between being drug on his back and on his stomach.

By the time Raumo finished the final lap, he wasn’t moving.

He was caked in mud, but under the filth, there were gashes and red marks from where he’d hit pebbles on the track.

“Clean him up,” Glorfindel ordered. Maeglin was too weak to protest.

Two of the soldiers who had placed winning bets strode forward, grabbing Maeglin and dragging him to a water trough. His eyes widened at the sight of the water, but they dunked his head under, ostensibly to wash his hair. Someone brought a bristled brush meant for grooming horses and horse soap which they used to lather him.

They tossed the small elf into the water trough then brutally scrubbed his skin with the brush, not even flinching when he cried out or tried to push them away. His legs were pulled apart and held above the water, and several onlookers called out demeaning comments about his genitals as his face burned with embarrassment. They didn’t fail to notice that he’d been keeping himself hairless as Glorfindel as told him to.

The brush was scrubbed across the sensitive skin of his genitals, and Maeglin howled and tried to pull his legs closed, but they only forced them wider until he went quiet out of fear that they would dislocate his hips.

“I believe he owes you a beating for having fallen on the second lap, my lord,” his stable master called, pressing a leather strap into Glorfindel’s hand.

He nodded, then stepped forward. “Keep his legs apart,” he said.

“My lord-” Maeglin began, but his words ended in a strangled cry as the strap landed on his inner thigh. Glorfindel was careful to just barely avoid his genitals, but the rest of Maeglin’s inner legs he beat until the skin turned red and puffy.

The final strike he allowed to land on Maeglin’s anus, and the elf screamed.

After that Glorfindel told the soldiers who had cleaned him to return him to his room. He followed not long after and found Maeglin to be a trembling mess on the floor.

The smith was still naked, since his clothes had been forgotten in the excitement, and he had spread his legs, as though using the cool tile floor to soothe his injuries.

“If nothing else,” Glorfindel said as he entered, tossing Maeglin’s cane to land beside the smith, “you’re good for my men’s moral.”

Maeglin said nothing.

“They hold an annual competition in the spring on Balar, much like those we enjoyed in Goldolin. Perhaps you would like to compete with the other animals?” He crouched in front of Maeglin and the smaller elf looked up fearfully. “Perhaps I should force feed you until you look like Salgant and throw you in with the other pigs.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, the first words he’d spoken since his punishment.

“Would you win me an award, little piggy?” Glorfindel sat on the ground, his hands slipping underneath Maeglin to pinch at his sore thighs. “Of course, I could always truss you up like a suckling pig. I took pity on you before, but perhaps for Yule you could decorate my table.”

He pulled Maeglin forward, forcing him into his lap and wrapping his legs around Glorfindel’s waist. “Or perhaps you could spend the day with the dogs again-”

“Please!” Maeglin brought his hands to Glorfindel’s shoulders, staring into his eyes in horror. “My lord I would do anything-”

“Hush,” he said and Maeglin fell silent. “I won’t do that to you,” he said, uncertain why he was so determined to soothe Maeglin’s obvious fear of dogs. “And I doubt I’d enjoy looking at you if you were as fat as Salgant.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Glorfindel’s hands found their way to Maeglin’s asscheeks, spreading them so that his nails could rake across the tender skin. “Tell me,” he said as Maeglin let out a whine. “Why were you running?”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not a reason, little cripple. Or do I need to repeat your run?”

“No, my lord!” He bucked forward, trying to escape Glorfindel’s nails. “I was frightened, my lord.”

“I was kind to you yesterday, was I not?”

“You were very kind my lord,” he whispered. “And that was why I ran.”

“So I have to beat you to make you stay? Is my little cripple a masochist?”

Maeglin’s face burned with shame, and he pressed his head into Glorfindel’s shoulder to hide. “I was afraid of when it would end, my lord.”

“I can’t be nice to you all the time, Maeglin,” he said, shaking his head and dislodging Maeglin who sat up. “If I did, you wouldn’t learn.”

“I have learned!”

“Oh? How many names have you memorized?”

“One hundred and forty five, my lord.”

“Is that five thousand?”

Maeglin hung his head, looking away. “No my lord, it is not.” For a long while, neither of them spoke. Glorfindel leaned against the edge of his bed and Maeglin leaned into him, no doubt growing cold in the chill.

Finally the smaller elf broke the silence, whispering, “Does my lord wish for me to pleasure him?”

Glorfindel looked down at him, raising an eyebrow. “Would you like that?” he asked, “If I took you while you were raw and sore?”

“If it pleases my lord, perhaps I would,” he replied, scooting closer and rolling his hips.

“You’re trying to win your way into my warm bed, little cripple,” he said, pushing hair from Maeglin’s forehead.

“I would no say no if my lord offered it,” he said.

But Glorfindel couldn’t bring himself to fuck Maeglin, even with the naked elf bouncing on his lap. “Not tonight, I think,” he said, brushing hair from Maeglin’s face. “But you may spend the night in my bed. Conditionally.”

“What does my lord wish?”

“You’re going to forge something for me.”

Maeglin tilted his head.

“I will tell you what it is tomorrow.” He pushed Maeglin from his lap. “You’ve not eaten all day, there’s a bit of hard cheese in the cupboard with the wine. Get yourself something to drink and bring me a glass.” 

Maeglin picked up his cane and limped away to do as Glorfindel had ordered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to CrystalNavy for the ‘pulled behind a horse’ suggestion.
> 
> Raumo is Quenya for storm.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More confused emotions from both Glorfindel and Maeglin. 
> 
> Maeglin has very severe Stockholm syndrome and it’s starting to scare Glorfindel.

The next morning Glorfindel woke to find Maeglin curled into his chest. He shook the dark elf awake as he slipped from the bed. As they did most mornings, Glorfindel gave Maeglin clothes and a list of names, then took him to breakfast. His limp seemed to be worse than usual, as though he was still recovering from the abuse the day before.

He didn’t invite Maeglin to sit at the table, but he fed him more than he had in the past. When they’d both finished eating, Glorfindel stood and said, “Come with me to your forge.”

Maeglin almost seemed excited to be returning to his forge, and Glorfindel took him inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. “Sit on the anvil,” he said.

The smith limped past him and swung his injured foot over the anvil, sitting aside it like a horse. Glorfindel fiddled in the various shelves and drawers until he’d found what he wanted, then he walked to stand in front of Maeglin.

He unbuttoned Maeglin’s shirt, pushing it back just enough to bare his chest, and said, “Hold very still.”

“My lord-”

“Do as you are told.”

Maeglin stilled, gripping the sides of the anvil with his hands to steady himself. Glorfindel had gotten two narrow metal poles, both only a few inches in length with pointed ends, and he lined one of them up with Maelgin’s nipple.

The smith looked away, but at a chiding noise from Glorfindel he looked down, watching as the golden lord pierced his skin with the rod. Then he did the other.

“How do they feel?” he asked.

“Sore, my lord,”

Glorfindel tweaked his nipple, causing a bit of blood to trickle from the wound. “You are going to forge two rings for the piercings that cannot be removed,” he said.

“As my lord commands.”

“I’m not done.” He placed a finger under Maeglin’s chin, forcing him to raise his head and meet his eyes. “Then you are going to make a chain that is light but strong. Fifteen feet in length. On one end, make a loop large enough for a padlock. On the other, attach two chains, about two feet long.”

“Will I be making the padlock as well, my lord?”

“Yes. And two clips that can be attached to the rings.” He traced Maeglin’s chest with his finger. “You will make them such that only I can remove them. Fail to do so, and I will have another smith forge a ring that goes straight into the flesh of your hip. Am I understood?”

“Yes my lord,” he whispered.

“How long will you need?”

“Two days.”

Glorfindel nodded. “You will be locked in the forge until it is done. Food will be brought to you. I will come to fetch you tomorrow evening. If you are not finished, there will be consequences.”

Before Maeglin could say anything else, he strode from the room.

* * *

He returned when the two days were up. Maeglin was sitting on the anvil again, although that time there was clearly something bulky under his shirt.

“Take off your shirt,” the golden lord ordered.

Maeglin did as he was told, revealing that not only had he finished the rings and chain, but he’d also already put them on.

A silver ring went through each of Maeglin’s nipples, and attached to that were two chains that joined near his waist. The rest of the chain was coiled neatly and sitting on the anvil.

As Glorfindel approached, Maeglin held out a key. “For you, my lord.”

“This is the only way to remove those?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord.”

Glorfindel nodded, eyeing Maeglin’s creation. “Does it hurt?”

“Some, my lord.”

“Would you be humiliated to wear it in public?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Fortunately for you, I doubt I will do that.” He ran his hand over Maeglin’s nipple and the smith hissed in pain. “But from now on, I will have a way of chaining you in my room so you cannot flee.”

Maeglin nodded silently.

Glorfindel pulled him close, pressing his lips to Maeglin’s ear. “If you try to remove these, little cripple, I’ll put a ring through your nose and another through your balls.”

“And the one through my hip?” Maeglin asked.

“And that one,” he snapped, giving Maeglin a swat for his impertinence. The smith murmured an apology as Glorfindel removed the chains, wrapping it around his hand and then slipping it into his pocket.

“I made you something else, my lord,” Maeglin said suddenly.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “You forged something without my permission?”

The smith flinched. “I thought my lord would enjoy it,” he mumbled. Perhaps he thought forging a gift would win him something.

“Show it to me and I will decide if I enjoy it or not.”

Maeglin produced two thin chains, even finer than the ones he’d crafted for Glorfindel. They were both only a few feet long, and shimmered in the light.

“They also attach to the rings,” he said. “The other end attaches to this.” Maeglin pressed something else into Glorfindel’s hands, then looked away. The golden lord looked down and shock flicked across his face. Maeglin had made another plug, similar to the one Glorfindel had forced him to make, but slightly smaller, probably something the smith would find more enjoyable.

He felt sick.

Why was Maeglin making sex toys? Why was Glorfindel almost excited about it?

He should throw the chain into the fire and then shove Maeglin in after them. He should beat him. He should lock him back in the basement. He should break his hand so that he would never forge again.

Instead, Glorfindel said, “Go to my room and put it on.”

* * *

He told himself he was going to make Maeglin wear his new creation while he whipped him, then drag him to the cellar. That would be his punishment for creating it.

But when he stepped into his room, Maeglin was already sitting naked on his bed, and judging by the color in his cheeks, he’d managed to insert the toy. Silver chains ran from his nipples, crossing his stomach, and wrapping around his hips, disappearing behind him.

Glorfindel found himself unwilling to torture him.

Instead, he asked, “Did you learn the names I gave you the other morning?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Recite for me.”

He tried to focus on the names as Maeglin recited them, every single one he’d been forced to learn so far, but Glorfindel couldn’t force himself to grow angry. All he could think about was the fact that he’d never met any of the almost two hundred people Maeglin named. The only person he had a connection to was the elf on his bed.

He frowned as Maeglin finished.

“Did I make a mistake, my lord?” the smith asked nervously.

“No,” he said. “Stand up and give me your cane. Bend over the bed.”

Maeglin did as he was told, and Glorfindel stood behind him. He struck four hard blows across the back of Maeglin’s legs, and the fifth he landed right on top of the plug, causing the elf to cry out finally. He didn’t sound as though he’d enjoyed it.

“You haven’t learned to enjoy pain, little cripple?” he asked, tossing the cane aside.

“No, my lord,” he whispered.

Glorfindel turned him over, lifted him, then tossed him on the bed. Maeglin flinched slightly as he landed on his back, but he didn’t complain. The golden lord kicked off his shoes, then straddled Maeglin.

“Why did you do this?” Glorfindel asked, pulling gently at the chains.

“I- I thought if I pleased my lord he might be more gentle with me,” Maeglin whispered, flinching slightly at the pressure. “I know my lord will demand pleasure, I thought perhaps he would be kinder if I was more willing.”

“Oh?”

“You once asked me to lay with you willingly, my lord. You said you could make me enjoy it.”

“And what if I enjoy making you weep?”

“I will do as you command.” But his eyes filled with fear at the thought.

“I’m not going to fuck you tonight,” he said, tugging at Maeglin’s chain again. “You are my prisoner, not my lover. I don’t do as you wish.”

“I could be both.”

Glorfindel scowled. “Why would you want that? Why would I want that?”

“Perhaps I am meant to seek atonement by easing your loneliness, my lord.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Glorfindel’s hand wrapped around Maeglin’s throat, pressing roughly into him, and he leaned forward, snarling, “I’m only lonely because you killed my friends.”

Maeglin’s mouth moved, as though he was trying to say something, but he couldn’t get any noises out. “Perhaps I should kill you. What do you think Namo would do to your horrible, shriveled soul?”

His crushing grip loosened enough for Maeglin to gasp, “Please!”

He pulled Maeglin from his bed, dragging him to the closet. He chained Maeglin’s wrists above his head, and left him, naked, still wearing the plug, shutting the door, and sealing him in the dark.


	21. Chapter 21

He didn’t take Maeglin from his closet the next morning, instead going to breakfast by himself. He spent the day in the training yard, something he’d missed doing when he’d been in meetings for the past months.

It felt good to stab things.

The sun was low in the sky by the time he finished and returned to his room for Maeglin.

When he finally opened the door, Maeglin looked up at him, blinking against the sudden bright light, and whispered, “My lord, please unchain me.”

“Why should I?” he snarled.

Maeglin’s face heated up. “I have to pee,” he mumbled.

Glorfindel snorted. “Piss on yourself, for all I care.”

“_Please?_”

With a sigh, he released Maeglin’s wrists. “Go,” he said. “Run a warm bath once you’ve taken care of yourself.”

Maeglin bolted. He limped back into the room a short while later, no longer wearing the chains he’d made. “Your bath is ready my lord,” he said quietly.

“You’re not going to ask to join me?”

“I still don’t like water.”

“Come with me.”

Glorfindel didn’t drag him into the bath, instead, he made Maeglin stand beside the tub and rub his muscles and wash his hair. Once he felt clean, he glanced at the dark elf, shivering in the evening air, and said, “Get in the water.”

“My lord-”

“I promised I would not give you to Namo, did I not?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Get in the water, little cripple.”

Maeglin trembled as he stepped in, keeping his eyes on Glorfindel rather than the water.

Glorfindel ran his hands down Maeglin’s back, then asked, “Do you still wish for me to take you?”

“Not particularly, my lord. But I will do as you wish.”

His fingers traced Maeglin’s back, finding their way to his ass and probing at his hole. “Still stretched, little slut?” he murmured, slipping his fingers inside.

“I’m not-” his words were cut off by a cry of pleasure.

“Not what?” Glorfindel asked with amusement, continuing to twist his fingers inside Maeglin.

“Please!” Maeglin yelped, trying to squirm out of his lap. It was clear he was warring with himself, torn between a desire to escape the water and growing arousal.

Glorfindel pulled out his fingers. Maeglin’s protests were drowned out by a loud whine as Glorfindel’s cock slipped inside him. “What are you?” Glorfindel asked, biting Maeglin’s neck. “Tell me, and perhaps I’ll give you pleasure.”

“A traitor!” Maeglin gasped, struggling on his lap.

“And?”

“A cripple!”

“And?”

“A slut.”

Glorfindel growled. “Say it again.”

There were tears on Maeglin’s face as he sobbed, “I’m a slut, my lord.”

Glorfindel pulled out of him. “Finish me with your hand,” he ordered.

The smith bowed his head and did as he was told, stroking Glorfindel until the golden elf climaxed. But when he moved to touch himself, Glorfindel caught his wrists. “Oh no,” he murmured. “I don’t think so.” 

He pulled Maeglin’s wrists above the other’s head, then helped him from the water. “Go and stand in the corner with your hands over your head,” he said. Maeglin limped away, doing as he was told.

Glorfindel stepped out of the bath, drying himself and then toweling off. “Finish yourself, if that’s what you want,” he said to the smith, then stormed from the room.

* * *

_What am I doing?_ Glorfindel wondered, pacing in his quarters. He needed to get away from Maeglin, the little minx was a poor influence on him, and it was clear he was quickly becoming corrupted as well.

He needed to clear his head, to remember who - and what - Maeglin was. “Come here!” he shouted.

Maeglin stumbled into the room a moment later, his cane clutched in his hand. “My lord?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Get dressed.”

Once Maeglin was more or less presentable, Glorfindel drug him from the room, forcing him down the steps and into his forge where he threw the elf to the ground. Quickly Glorfindel moved to the fire, picking up a metal pan where it had been waiting, and turned back to his captive.

He pushed Maeglin to the floor, pinning him with his boot. He held out the metal pan, holding it close enough to Maeglin’s face that the smith pulled back. “Perhaps I should burn your pretty face,” he said. “Would you like that?”

“No, my lord!”

“But you’ve seduced me, you’ve admitted to it.”

“My lord I-”

“Or perhaps I should press this to your ass? Would that be better?”

“_Please!_”

He threw the pan aide, grabbing Maeglin by his shirt and dragging to closer to the fire. Then he threw the smith onto his stomach, forcing his pants down to his knees and sitting on Maeglin’s back to keep him pinned.

Maeglin’s ass was right in front of him, and he rested his hand on it. “Here’s our problem, I believe,” he said, rubbing his hand over the white skin. “You are much too tempting.”

“My lord-”

A slap silenced him.

Glorfindel picked up a metal rod from beside the fire. It was barely as wide as one of Glorfindel’s fingers, and it slipped into Maeglin’s hole easily enough. “I wonder,” he mused. “What would happen if I heated this over the fire?”

“My lord, please!”

He held the rod over the fire, watching as it heated. Maeglin wriggled beneath him, trying his best to escape, begging and pleading for mercy. But it was no good. Glorfindel was bigger and Maeglin was still weak from his repeated torments.

When the rod was burning red, he pulled it from the flames.

When he struck, Maeglin’s scream was the loudest he’d heard from him yet.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re not familiar with what the ‘horn’ of an anvil is, [here’s a reference image](http://www.todayifoundout.com/index.php/2012/02/why-anvils-are-shaped-as-they-are-and-why-blacksmiths-often-tap-the-anvil-after-a-few-strikes-on-the-object-theyre-working-on/). It’s a feature in this chapter.

In the end, he hadn’t shoved the rod into Maeglin’s anus. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it.

Instead, he’d struck the hot metal across Maeglin’s thighs, leaving a long red line across his otherwise pale skin. But terror had been enough, and Maeglin struggled against him anyway, shouting and sobbing.

Glorfindel stood, landing a kick on Maeglin’s burns for good measure.

“This is your home now,” he said, gesturing around the forge. “You will be kept in here, rather than my rooms. If you make any attempt to leave I will shatter your other foot. Any attempt to seduce me and I will put that rod up your ass.”

Maeglin nodded, lowering his head.

Glorfindel knelt in front of him, pulling him back by his hair and forcing him to meet his eyes. “I’m going to shave you now since I won’t be needing your hair to tug anymore.”

He forced Maeglin to sit between his legs as he shaved off what remained of his long hair, tossing the strands into the fire and watching them burn. The dark elf cried silently.

When he was finished, Glorfindel slipped his hand under Maeglin’s collar, running his finger over the rings set into Maeglin’s nipples. “You won’t be needing these anymore,” he said. With one swift movement, he pulled them from Maeglin’s skin.

He left him gasping on the floor, blood staining the front of his shirt as firelight reflected off his bald head.

* * *

Winter gave way to spring, and still, Glorfindel did not return to his captive in the forge. The smith’s hair grew back, but Glorfindel didn’t get close enough to witness it himself, relying on updates he’d gotten from the guards who took him meals.

As had been initially planned, Maeglin was forced to create weapons and armor for his captors, and as with everything the smith created, it was flawless.

Word got out quickly that Maeglin was no longer under Glorfindel’s dubious protection.

The smith kept his forge locked, only opening it when ordered to by Glorfindel or to trade his creations for food and supplies. But even that wasn’t enough to stop everyone. Glorfindel knew that a hand full of his men had gotten in, only to be chased out by Maeglin.

But he found it freeing to tell himself that he didn’t care.

Without Maeglin to push around, he felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he found himself in a more cheerful mood. _More like his old self_, people would say. But Balar was still Balar, and the shadow that had fallen over its inhabitants remained.

One day, as summer was beginning, Glorfindel was walking across the yard when he realized the door to Maeglin’s smithy was open. He stopped, blinking in surprise, and found himself being pulled forward, stepping inside out of morbid fascination.

Inside, Maeglin was not alone.

There were two of them behind Maeglin, thrusting into his ass, and another stood in front of him, doing the same to his mouth.

They weren’t even elves. Just some of the mortal soldiers who had joined them on Balar. They had no reason to hate Maeglin, other than the fact that the elves clearly despised him. Or perhaps someone had put them up to it.

As he stared in horror, his own words flooded back to him. _“I wonder how many you could take at once. Two in your ass, one down your throat?”_

How many months had it been since he’d made that threat? How many times had someone cornered Maeglin since then and he hadn’t known about it?

A swell of pity rose in his chest, and for the first time, Glorfindel didn’t fight it. He strode forward quickly, grabbing the man in Maeglin’s mouth and pressing his knife to his throat.

The other two froze.

Beneath them, Maeglin let out a long whine.

Glorfindel could both see and smell blood coming from Maeglin’s ass and had no doubt he was in extreme pain. “Out,” was all he had to say, and the mortals ran.

As they fled Glorfindel followed them, slamming the door and locking it securely behind them. Then he turned around, running an appraising glance over the room.

The first thing he noticed - other than Maeglin - was that one of the anvils had been knocked over, and judging by the blood on the horn, it had been used to open the smith’s ass for them.

Maeglin was still leaning over the anvil they’d pinned him on, panting and shaking, and he offered no resistance when Glorfindel approached him, placing a gentle hand on his back.

“Maeglin-“ he rubbed soothing circles on the smith’s back, then carefully gathered him into his arms. “I’ve got you,” he murmured.

“Glorfindel,” he sobbed, speaking for the first time. “Help.” Saliva dribbled from his lips, and, judging by the amount of semen that was mixed in, his captors had been tormenting him for quite some time.

“Shhhh.” The elven lord sat on the ground, pulling the weeping elf into his lap. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at Maeglin's mouth. “Would you like me to kill them?” he asked. There was something about seeing Maeglin in so much pain, after having avoided him for months, that had touched a chord in Glorfindel. As much as he wanted to ignore it, he couldn’t.

“Just don’t let them touch me again,” Maeglin pleaded.

“Of course,” Glorfindel murmured, running his hands through Maeglin’s short hair. Carefully he shrugged out of his cloak, spreading it on the ground and then laying Maeglin on top of it. “Spread your legs,” he said gently.

To his surprise, Maeglin readily obeyed.

He probed at the wounded hole, making soothing noises as he did. “Look on the bright side, little cripple,” he said, offering Maeglin a smile. “I’ve done worse to you.”

“No, you haven’t,” Maeglin moaned, his hands clenching the fabric of the cloak. “They fucked me with my own anvil! They pushed it over and made me sit on it, then pushed me down until I felt my skin rip.”

Glorfindel wiped his bloody fingers on his cloak, then patted Maeglin’s stomach. “I won’t let them do it again,” he said, folding the cloak over Maeglin. “I promise.”

“Just give me a better door,” Maeglin pleaded.

“I will,” he said readily, pulling Maeglin into his arms and standing. “But until then, you’re going to stay in my chambers.”

No one said anything as Glorfindel swept into the house, a clearly distressed Maeglin in his arms. Perhaps it was the expression on their lord’s face. Perhaps it was just that they’d been expecting it.

Maeglin wouldn’t have wanted to see a healer, even if Glorfindel had trusted one enough to turn him over to them, so instead, the Golden Lord cared for his injuries himself. He’d gotten plenty of practice healing Maeglin after the tortures he had inflicted on him.

The smith sat perfectly still as he worked, barely flinching or crying out as his tender skin was cleaned and patted. He didn’t speak, only mumbled to himself in a strange dialect Glorfindel didn’t understand.

“What are you saying,” he asked gently.

“It hurts,” Maeglin replied, his head lolling to one side. “I just want it to stop.”

“I can give you something to help you sleep.”

Fear flashed on his face. “What if they come again while I’m asleep?”

“I won’t leave you.”

“Why?” Maeglin whispered, looking up at him with confusion written on his face. “Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t know.”

True to his word, Glorfindel gave Maeglin a sleeping draught and then sat with him as he slept, rubbing his back when Maeglin whined in his sleep.

It wasn’t hard to brush against his mind when he was so unguarded, and Glorfindel was easily able to peer into the smith’s dreams.

> _He was in his forge again, spitted on the horn of the anvil, his anus struggling to accept the cold metal. But it wasn’t the nameless mortals who gathered around him, pressing on his shoulders to rip him open. _
> 
> _It was the lords of Gondolin._
> 
> _Turgon’s face was horribly misshapen from where his tower had landed on him. Ecthelion was soaked, leaving a trail of bloodied water as he walked. Duilin had arrows sticking from his chest. Penlod’s armor was ruined and one arm was nothing more than a bloodied stump. Rog was nothing more than a mass of burned flesh._
> 
> _“Please,” Maeglin begged. “I made a mistake!”_
> 
> _“You killed us!” Penlod snarled, pushing down on Maeglin’s shoulders, ripping him further apart. _
> 
> _“I didn’t want it!” _
> 
> _“No,” Turgon said softly. “All you wanted was Idril.” _
> 
> _Together Ecthelion and Penlod pressed on Maeglin’s shoulders until the entire anvil vanished inside of him. His hips shattered and his entire body was ripped in two._

When Glorfindel was finally able to pull himself from Maeglin’s nightmare, he stumbled from the room and vomited in the toilet.


	23. Chapter 23

He was certain that Ecthelion’s waterlogged and rotten face was going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Fortunately, he hadn’t woken Maeglin when he’d run from the room, so he doubted the other was even aware that he’d seen into his nightmares. He certainly wouldn’t thank him for it.

Glorfindel leaned against the wall, struggling to breathe. Even with everything he’d seen, everything he’d been through - Maeglin’s nightmares, the fall, torturing the smith - he felt sick and confused.

He’d hated the mortals when he’d seen them, hated what they’d done to Maeglin. And yet, hadn’t he done the same thing? Didn’t a part of him still want to do the same?

Even injured and sleeping he couldn’t ignore the rising hatred he felt for the other. A part of him wanted nothing more than to drag him back to the smithy and rip him apart on the anvil again. But thankfully, that part was drowned out by the part that was riddled with guilt.

Maeglin wasn’t safe on Balar. None of them were. Something was wrong with it, the entire island. Perhaps it was tainted by Sauron. Perhaps the inhabitants themselves were. He ran his hand through his hair, guilt and anger warring inside him and eating at him.

Glorfindel returned to his room where Maeglin was still curled into the blankets. For a moment he just watched the other, wondering how someone who had killed as many people as the smith had could look so innocent.

Maeglin whined as he woke him. “I’m tired,” he mumbled, trying to burrow more deeply into the blankets. “Please.”

“Come on,” Glorfindel grumbled, pulling Maeglin from the bed. “You need to eat.”

He let the smith sit at the table with him for breakfast that morning, sliding food across the table, encouraging him to eat more. “I’m full,” Maeglin mumbled finally as Glorfindel tried to pass him another sausage. “Please my lord.”

_Eat it, damn you_, he thought. But he only smiled. “Very well, little cripple.”

He took Maeglin with him to his office, saying that he had work that needed to be done. “The world doesn’t stop just because you’re injured,” he told him sternly.

Maeglin flinched as Glorfindel pulled him into his lap. “Hush,” the golden lord murmured. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before.”

“Please,” Maeglin moaned. “Let me use my mouth at least.”

Glorfindel paused. “I’m not going to fuck you,” he said softly. “I only want you to sit here.”

“Why?”

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Maeglin remained silent, so Glorfindel pushed further. “Or perhaps I could call back the mortals-”

“No! Please my lord!”

“Then stop being so difficult.”

Maeglin lowered his head, pushing his face into Glorfindel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, my lord. I’m in pain and I took it out on you.”

“You’ve been in pain before,” he reminded him. After a pause, he asked, “How is it?”

“It hurts.”

“Show me.” His desk was clear, so he lifted Maeglin off his lap, laying him on his back on the desk and slipping off his pants. “I’m not going to take you,” he said again. “I promise.”

Maeglin said nothing as Glorfindel spread his legs, pressing fingers against his hole but not entering. “Stay here.”

He left Maeglin on his desk, hurrying back to his room to gather the supplies he’d kept there when Maeglin had been living with him. When he returned to his office, Maeglin was still on his back on the desk, but he looked uncomfortable.

“My lord-”

“I locked the door when I left,” he lied and Maeglin seemed to relax.

Glorfindel sat between his legs again, and dipped his fingers into the salve, rubbing it into his hole. “Shhh,” he said as Maeglin whimpered. “This will help.”

Maeglin twitched but remained silent as Glorfindel treated him, and when it was over he slipped back into the Golden Lord’s lap willingly. 

Glorfindel wrapped one arm around Maeglin to keep the smaller elf pinned on his lap and used the other to turn pages as he read the report.

He didn’t question Maeglin, not even as he began to weep silently. His mind was already made up: he needed to get rid of him.


	24. Chapter 24

Maeglin seemed reluctant to return to his forge, so Glorfindel allowed him to follow him around instead. For the next week, Maeglin was his silent shadow, not speaking when he could avoid it, barely seeming to be alive at all.

He was just a shadow.

Finally, Glorfindel grew tired of him. “Come here,” he ordered, motioning for Maeglin to approach him. The smith had been sitting in front of the fire, watching the flames lick at the wood in silence ever since breakfast.

Maeglin limped toward him obediently, allowing himself to be pulled into Glorfindel’s lap. The golden lord ran his fingers through Maeglin’s hair as he pulled him closer.

“Do you recall why I freed you from the basement?”

“You said I would have to earn my keep, my lord.”

“And what are you doing to earn your keep presently?”

Maeglin flinched. “Nothing, my lord.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What does my lord wish?”

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. “Honestly?” he asked, rubbing his hand across Maeglin’s cheek. “I wish to be rid of you.”

The reaction was instantaneous. “Please!” Maeglin begged, gripping the front of Glorfindel’s tunic. “Please my lord, don’t throw me out!”

“I-”

“You know what they’ll do to me!”

“It would be nothing you don’t deserve.”

Maeglin looked away. “Please,” he mumbled. “Please?”

Glorfindel tilted his head back. “What do you think they’d do to you?” he asked, his voice chilling. “Tell me, little cripple. Tell me exactly what you fear.”

The smith lifted his head. “They’d rape me to death,” he whispered, his eyes flashing with fear. “I wouldn’t last a day, my lord.”

“I could enjoy watching that,” he said, but somehow he couldn’t force himself to mean it. Not after having seen Maeglin trapped beneath those mortals.

“Please don’t,” Maeglin whispered. “Please my lord, keep me.”

Glorfindel rubbed his shoulders, pulling Maeglin so that the smith was leaned against his chest. “Tell me what I should do with you if I choose not to keep you.”

“I- I don’t know.”

“What if I gifted you to Gil-Galad? His begetting day is coming up soon.”

Maeglin shifted. “I do not know him,” he said finally. “I am not certain how he would treat me.”

“Or Egalmoth-”

“No!” Maeglin screamed, his voice echoing around the small room. Glorfindel flinched at the noise and landed a strike on Maeglin’s backside.

“Keep your voice down.”

“Apologies, my lord.”

He sighed, turning his head to stare at the window. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” he admitted softly. “He’d let his dogs fuck you to death or throw you to the orcs just for spite.”

“Then what are you going to do with me?” Maeglin asked weakly.

“Sit up.” He kept a knife in his desk drawer, and Maeglin’s eyes widened slightly as he pulled it out.

“My lord-”

“Hush.”

Glorfindel pressed the blade of his knife to Maeglin’s neck. The smith froze, then whimpered, “_Please_.” His dark eyes were full of terror.

“Close your eyes.”

Maeglin squeezed his eyes shut but tears still leaked out. Glorfindel placed the blade against his jugular, angling for the quickest cut. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He snarled and threw the blade across the room. “Out!” he ordered, shoving Maeglin from his lap.

The dark elf didn’t need to be told twice, fleeing from the room in terror.

Glorfindel watched him flee, anger swelling in his chest. Why couldn’t he just kill him?

It was that thought that dogged him for the rest of the day as he tried to work. Wanting to be left alone, he ordered a meal to be brought to his chambers, but when he went there, they were already occupied.

Maeglin was sitting on his bed, naked.

Glorfindel let out a groan and closed his eyes. “Put something on,” he ordered.

“My lord-”

“Put something on or I’ll throw you outside.”

He didn’t open his eyes until he’d heard Maeglin scramble into a robe. It wasn’t much, but it kept the smith covered. It removed the temptation. “Are you trying to bribe me?” he growled, pushing past the confused elf.

“What if I am?” Maeglin demanded.

“Don’t you want a different life than to be a living sex toy?”

Maeglin stumbled after him, his cane forgotten somewhere out of sight. “What other life do I have?!”

Glorfindel backhanded him. Then, before Maeglin could pull away, he grabbed him by the front of the robe and tossed him into a chair. “Sit here,” he snarled.

The food he had requested arrived shortly after that, and there was enough of it that he had plenty to share with Maeglin.

They ate in silence, neither one wishing to disturb the other, not wanting to start another fight. They had wine with supper, and when the food was finished, Glorfindel got another bottle for himself. He didn’t bother to pour it into a glass, sipping it straight from the bottle. 

Maeglin watched him nervously. “My lord,” he said quietly. “You are going to have a headache come morning.”

“Shut up,” he snarled. He took another swig of the wine, then held it out to Maeglin.

“No thank you.”

“Drink it or I’ll cram the bottle up your ass.”

When Maeglin reached for the bottle Glorfindel caught his wrist, pulling him forward to sit in his lap. There was plenty of room for them both on the chair, and Glorfindel leaned back, letting Maeglin sit across his lap and lean against him.

When he held the bottle to his lips, Maeglin sipped from it obediently. Then Glorfindel grabbed his chin and tipped it up, pouring the contents of the bottle down his throat.

The smith drank it all.

It took two more bottles before Glorfindel started to feel somewhat inebriated, but even then, Maeglin barely seemed affected.

“How much does it take to get you drunk?” he asked curiously.

“Would my lord like to test it?”

Glorfindel snorted. “Perhaps,” he offered. “I could force wine down you until you were too drunk to stand.”

“I would not appreciate that headache.” Maeglin leaned into him again, nuzzling his head into Glorfindel’s shoulder.

He shouldn’t. He knew that he absolutely shouldn’t let Maeglin keep nuzzling him, but he also shouldn’t have gotten the wine, and he certainly shouldn’t have let Maeglin sit on his lap.

But he’d all of those things already, so he’d have to face the consequences later.

He pulled Maeglin closer, slipping a hand between them to cup Maeglin’s crotch. “Do you want this?” he asked roughly.

The smith rutted into his touch. “Yes,” he said breathlessly.

Glorfindel’s hand under Maeglin’s robe, probing his ass. What he found brought a grin to his face. “Wearing the plug, Maeglin?” he murmured.

“I thought my lord would appreciate if I were ready for him,” Maeglin replied.

“No.” Glorfindel pulled it out deftly. “You just didn’t want me to take you without preparing you.”

The smith said nothing as Glorfindel’s cock replaced the toy, both of them were beyond words, lost in the muddled desires that were coursing through them.

When it was finished, Glorfindel stood, pulling his pants back up. “Go to bed,” he said, “I will join you later.”

But he didn’t. When Glorfindel returned to the room just past midnight he shook Maeglin awake. “Get up,” he said, pulling the tired smith from the bed. He pulled clothes onto Maeglin, even as the elf struggled to stay awake, handed him his cane, and pulled him from the room.


	25. End of Act One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Solobook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solobook/pseuds/Solobook) made some BEAUTIFUL fanart of this and oh my gosh it's amazing!! See it [here](https://i.imgur.com/c03QGuP.jpg) and [here](https://i.imgur.com/grpHNje.jpg).

Maeglin shook as Glorfindel led him down the path to the dock. He clearly expected to be killed, why else would Glorfindel be taking him out to a rowboat in the dead of the night?

“My lord,” he whispered, fear shining in his eyes.

“Get in the boat,” Glorfindel hissed. “And keep your voice down.”

“There is food in the boat,” he said, steadying it as Maeglin crawled in. “And a few gold coins and a sword. Travel south, get as far from here as you can. There are fewer enemies that way, and a few mortal settlements. Keep your tattoos covered, grow out your hair, and no one will recognize you. Tell anyone who asks that you injured your foot fighting orcs.”

“What?” Maeglin stared at him in shock.

“You heard me. Get out of here.”

“I- they will hunt me.”

“I will tell them you tried to escape and in the process I killed you. Now go.” Glorfindel tried to push the boat, but Maeglin grabbed his hand.

“Glorfindel.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d used that name since everything had started, but the other time had been when Glorfindel had rescued him in the forge. He doubted the smith even remembered that. The golden lord caught his chin and lifted his head. “I cannot forget what you’ve done to Gondolin. No one can. But I also cannot forget what has caused you to be this way. You are a monster Maeglin, but you were created, not born.”

He pressed a soft kiss to Maeglin’s forehead. “This is the best future I can give you.” Letting go of Maeglin he met his eyes. “Make your future better than your past, my little cripple.” He tossed Maeglin’s cane into the boat.

“I’ve never been alone!”

“You will be fine,” he said sharply, pressing the oars into his hands. He pulled a knife from his pocket and tucked it into Maeglin’s shirt. “Go south, and if you ever come back I will beat you with that cane, do you understand?”

Finally Maeglin nodded, and Glorfindel shoved the boat, sending him off into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, this isn’t the end.


	26. Intermission

After the War of the Wrath, the survivors put the horrors of Balar behind them. Whatever they had been then, possessed by fear or anger, they refused to let it happen again. The traitor was dead and gone, and Glorfindel was once again their beloved and kind lord of the Golden Flower.

Life moved on, and the first and second ages of Arda passed into memory. Few still remained who had remembered the First Age, and fewer still who had been in the Hidden City. Most had moved on, sailed or perished, but Glorfindel never felt that he was alone.

He couldn’t truly be alone - not even after the House of the Golden Flower had disbanded - not so long as there were still descendants of Turgon to worry after.

He made them his duty, his meaning in life.

It was unfortunate that they had such bad luck.

After Earendil and Idril both sailed for Valinor, never to return, he searched out their sons, but of the twins, only Elrond chose the gift of the elves. His choice gave him a long life, but it left him with a long time for his bad luck to fester.

He lost his birth parents, his foster parents, his brother, and then, in the Last Alliance, he lost his king.


	27. Chapter 27

There were too many dead and near dying.

Glorfindel sat back, running a hand through his hair, trying to block out the sounds of the camp around him. Somewhere in front of him, Elrond was moving around in a daze, tending to the wounded as though it was his only meaning in life.

At least his life had some sort of meaning.

There was no point in being Elrond’s protector at the moment, not when there were hundreds of others around them. Not with Sauron dead.

He pushed himself to his feet. There had to be something he could do. He’d picked up enough skills in the battles he’d been in, he could offer some assistance to the wounded.

They’d put those who were most critically injured in one of the long buildings they’d constructed in their camp. It made for a poor hospital, but it was the best they could manage in the circumstances.

He walked between the rows of cots, carrying supplies to the healers, offering them his life force when needed. As an elf of the Age of the Trees, one who had been given a blessing by the Valar for his acts of valor during the war against Morgoth, he had enough energy to spare, letting them siphon it into the injured.

It was easier work than it should have been, but he intentionally didn’t focus on the faces of those he assisted. It was easier if he didn’t try to humanize them. The less he knew about them, the less it hurt when the healers failed.

But there was one face that stood out to him.

The first time he walked past the injured Avari, he made himself look away, telling himself that it was only his imagination.

The second time, he didn’t even look.

The third time he paused, looking at his face again. In an effort to convince himself he was overreacting, he lifted the sheet off the elf’s feet.

One of his feet was shattered.

He sucked in a breath.

“I don’t think he’s going to live.” Fael was hovering nearby. She was one of the healers, some of Elrond’s folk that had remained behind during the battle.

“Why not?” Glorfindel asked sharply. He wanted to laugh at her words. _You don’t know who this is, _he wanted to say. _You don’t know what he can survive. _

She waved her hand toward him. “He was with Oropher’s folk in the massacre.” Nearly all of Oropher’s forces had died, including the Woodland King himself, leaving his son Thranduil behind to lead their remaining people. “I can’t imagine why they let him fight at all,” she said. “Not with his foot already maimed.”

Glorfindel turned sharply on his heel.

He found Elrond, his long hair tied back, fussing over pots of herbs and salves. “I need you,” he said.

Elrond looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Pardon?”

“Someone’s injured,” he said, nodding toward the back of the room where Maeglin was.

“A lot of people are.”

“Someone important.”

Elrond seemed surprised. “Who?”

“An old friend of mine,” Glorfindel said, intentionally evading the question. “Someone I thought long dead.”

The healer seemed hesitant to leave what he’d been working on, but he gave in after a moment, saying, “Very well, I can look at him at least.”

Judging by Elrond’s face when he saw Maeglin for the first time, his prediction was nearly as grim as Fael’s. “He is-”

“Can he be saved?”

Elrond frowned, not moving closer. “I already examined him,” he confessed. “He was struck with a poisoned blade. I’ve administered the antidote, but he’s not responding well to it. I believe he may be too weak to fight the poison.”

“He is anything but weak.”

Elrond sat on the edge of Maeglin’s cot, pushing back the sheet that concealed his chest. On his abdomen was a large festering wound. “This wound is old,” Elrond explained. “He kept it hidden for some time before seeking aid. By then it was nearly too late to administer the antidote.”

Glorfindel pulled a stool over, sitting beside him. “What can I do for him?”

“Who is he to you?” Elrond asked, tilting his head. He seemed genuinely curious. After having spent an Age together there was little they didn’t know about one another.

“He is an old friend,” Glorfindel said again.

“Do you… care to elaborate?”

He didn’t, actually. “He is your…. cousin.”

“The only Avarin relative that I am aware of is-” Elrond stopped abruptly. He dropped his voice, although there was no one near them who was conscious enough to overhear. “You are not telling me that this is Maeglin of Gondolin?” he hissed.

“I did not say that.”

“It is Maeglin of Gondolin, isn’t it?” Elrond seemed to consider, although, it was unusual to see him looking stunned. Finally, he said, “I was of the opinion that you killed him.”

“He tried to escape-”

“And you killed him and lost track of his body in the current,” Elrond finished. “I’ve heard this tale. They sing it alongside the tale of the Balrog Killer. So why is he here?”

“I did not kill him.”

The lord of the valley appeared exasperated. “I had figured that out for myself. Why?”

Glorfindel debated on what story to tell, finally settling on the truth. “I let him go. I gave him a boat, some supplies, and told him to run.”

“Why?”

“He was a child,” Glorfindel replied bitterly. “I won’t make excuses for what he’s done. But with everything that happened to him, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”


	28. Chapter 28

Maeglin didn’t wake.

The poison was slowly leaving his body, but even Elrond wasn’t terribly optimistic about his chances. Glorfindel sat beside him the entire time. He dug through Maeglin’s few possessions as he slept, and although Elrond tutted at him, he didn’t stop him.

He only recognized one thing among the items: the knife he had slipped into Maeglin’s shirt when he’d put him in the boat. It seemed he had hung on to it, over the ages.

His cane was new, no doubt one that Maeglin had forged, since they found a few small flecks of metal in his bag.

A traveling smith? Was that what Gondolin’s prince had fallen to?

He pushed hair off Maeglin’s forehead, glancing around the room. It had gotten late and they were the only ones there. Quietly, he leaned over and whispered, “Wake up my little cripple.”

To his disappointment, Maeglin didn’t move.

The healer’s room slowly emptied. About half of those who left were deemed well enough to be cared for by friends and family. The other half were buried.

But Maeglin remained.

“He’s not getting better,” Elrond would say hesitantly. “But he’s not getting worse, either.”

Most of Glorfindel’s time was spent trying to get nourishment into Maeglin. He was horrifically underweight, near starvation, and if he continued to loose weight he wouldn’t stand a chance of healing. So Glorfindel sat beside him and spooned broth into his mouth.

As the survivors of the Last Alliance began the preparations to leave Mordor, one of the first things they did was tear down any unnecessary buildings and salvage what they could. The healing halls for the critically injured was deemed one of the first places to go, and all those who remained were either taken to the rooms where they had originally had those with fewer injuries or to be cared for by friends and family.

Glorfindel didn’t consider himself to be Maelgin’s friend or his family, but Elrond had insisted on putting him under the golden lord’s care anyway.

“Who else should watch him?” he’d asked. “One of Oropher’s folk?”

Glorfindel had a room in what had been their command post during the years of siege, and it was near enough to Elrond’s that the healer could stop by and check on his patient whenever he pleased. It also meant Glorfindel could attend their councils and meetings without going too far from Maeglin.

The first night Maeglin spent in his room, he let the injured elf have the bed and he slept on a cot beside him. It hadn’t seemed right to let him sleep in the cot, even though it was what he’d been laying on in the healing hall.

A soft moan pulled Glorfindel from his sleep. He turned to see Maeglin clawing at the sheets, trying to throw them off.

“Lomion,” he murmured, grabbing Maeglin’s wrists and pulling his hands from his wounds. “Shhhh.”

His dark eyes flew open and he stared at Glorfindel. “Y-you,” he whispered.

“Stay,” Glorfindel told him, and ran from the room. He shook Elrond awake and drug the healer back to where Maeglin was struggling to sit up in bed.

Together they pushed Maeglin back into the bed.

The smith let himself be manhandled, mumbling all the while in an Avarin dialect that Glorfindel couldn’t understand. It seemed Elrond could understand it, however, because he responded in the same strange language. Maeglin seemed to relax at whatever he’d said.

“What is it?” Glorfindel asked worriedly. Everyone knew Glorfindel had tortured him - even if it wasn’t something people tended to bring up in conversation - but he wasn’t sure he was ready for Elrond to hear any of the details. He didn’t think he’d ever be ready.

Elrond seemed amused. “He’s clearly feverish,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “He’s talking about how pretty you are.”

“Ha ha,” Glorfindel grumbled.

“I’m not joking,” Elrond said. “That’s what he’s saying.”

“And what did you tell him?” Glorfindel demanded, wondering what could possibly have ended Maeglin’s feverish ramblings.

“I said he could join the line of those waiting to flirt with you.”

Glorfindel’s face flushed, but Elrond didn’t seem to notice. Elrond spoke to Maeglin again, but when he answered his words were a jumbled combination of Quenya and Sindarin.

**“Hurts. Everything hurts. Face blurry. Brain fog.” **

“Do you remember what happened to you?” Elrond switched to speaking in Quenya, which Maeglin seemed to be able to respond to.

**“Rowboat.” **

Elrond glanced at Glorfindel with a raised eyebrow. “I gave him one.”

“You’re not in the boat anymore,” Elrond said, speaking loudly and clearly. “You’re in Mordor. You were fighting Sauron-”

**“No!” **Maeglin started screaming in Avarin again, and - hoping they could refrain from waking everyone around them - Glorfindel clamped his hand over his mouth.

“Shhhh,” he murmured.

Maeglin’s eyes were wide, flicking quickly between Elrond and Glorfindel. “What was it?” the golden elf asked.

“He’s afraid of Sauron, rather understandably.”

“He’s gone,” Glorfindel said. “He’s gone, Lomion. Do you understand that?”

After a moment Maeglin nodded slowly, and Glorfindel lowered his hand. Thankfully, the screaming didn’t start up again.

Elrond resumed checking on Maeglin’s wounds, still seeming displeased with the status of the wound on his stomach. “You should have brought this to a healer much sooner,” he scolded.

“I tried. I couldn’t.” It was the most words he’d managed to string together in one language since he’d woken.

“Why not?” Elrond pursed his lips, clearly prepared to go and shout at any healer who had turned someone away.

Maeglin’s eyes flicked to Glorfindel nervously. “Went to healers. He was there.”

“You left because I was there?” Glorfindel repeated, trying to decide if he should shake Maeglin or himself.

“Promised not to come back.” Maeglin winced, shifting. “Cane hurt.”

Elrond looked to Glorfindel for an explanation. “When I sent him away I told him he couldn’t ever come back,” he replied, leaving out the bit where he’d threatened to beat Maeglin with his cane.

“You are safe,” Elrond told him. “It was Glorfindel who saved you, do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“He’s going to help you. Will you let him?” When Maeglin didn’t respond straight away, Elrond offered, “I can find another to watch you.”

But Maeglin shook his head. “I stay.” Then he whimpered, “Cold.”

Glorfindel looked to Elrond for an explanation. How could anyone be cold in Mordor? Even in the elven camp, it was stifling. But Maeglin was clearly shivering.

“It’s the poison,” Elrond explained. “It may take months for it to truly exit your body.”

“I’ll find a blanket-”

“No,” the healer said firmly. “It won’t help. All you’ll do is cause him to sweat and become dehydrated.”

He seemed to be struggling to stay awake, clearly, he’d worn himself out, so Elrond and Glorfindel tucked him back into the sheets. Before long, he was fast asleep.

“Why do you trust me with him?” Glorfindel asked.

Elrond paused. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. Before Glorfindel could respond, he said, “I know you two have a… colored past. I can’t say I agree with what you’ve done. But in the time I’ve known you, I’ve never thought of you as someone dangerous.”

“I-”

“I never believed the story about his death, you know.” Elrond’s keen eyes watched him. “I always thought you must have had a change of heart and killed him.”

“I tried,” he explained. “I _tried_ to kill him, but I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

He couldn’t look Elrond in the eye and say it was because he’d enjoyed having sex with Maeglin. He also couldn’t look him in the eye and confess that his own negligence had caused Maeglin to be gang-raped. Instead, he said, “I realized I didn’t hate him. I pitied him.”

Elrond only nodded, standing. “I don’t think you’re going to hurt him,” he said. “But that being said, if I even suspect it, I won’t welcome a dangerous man back into my valley.”

“I’m not that person anymore.”

Elrond gave him a smile. “I know.”

Sleep didn’t come easily, even after Elrond left. Every noise from Maeglin caused him to sit up and check on him.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he managed to fall asleep, only to lurch back awake at the sound of a quiet voice.

“Glorfindel.”

“Yes?” he mumbled.

“Why?”

Glorfindel rolled onto his back, looking up at Maeglin who was peering over the edge of the bed. “Why what?”

“Why did you free me?”

“You were a… temptation.”

Maeglin blinked sleepily. “I-”

“We can talk in the morning, you should sleep.”

“Don’t want to sleep,” Maeglin whispered. “Need to know.”

Glorfindel rolled over, facing away from him. “Go to bed,” he repeated.


	29. Chapter 29

For the next two days, Maeglin continued to drift in and out of consciousness, but each time he woke he seemed to be a bit more coherent than the last.

Then, finally, on the third day, his fever broke and he was finally able to stay awake for more than a few minutes.

Glorfindel made himself scarce, leaving Maeglin in Elrond’s care. A part of him was afraid of what Maeglin might say to the healer, but he was more concerned about having to face the smith himself.

It was easy to make himself busy, he had been missing, sitting with Maeglin, for long enough that there was a long line of people who wanted to speak to him. When he finally returned to his room, Elrond was clearly less than pleased.

“Where have you been?” he hissed. “He’s been asking about you.”

Glorfindel’s stomach lurched. “He has?”

“Yes, you’re his guardian angel apparently. Now go and sit with him.” With that, Elrond hurried out of the room before Glorfindel could flee again.

Maelgin was sitting up in the bed, and he shifted slightly as Glorfindel stepped closer. “My lord-”

“Don’t.” His voice was sharp and Maeglin winced. “Don’t call me that. My name is Glorfindel.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I promised I wouldn’t come back.”

Glorfindel sat beside him, pushing up on Maelgin’s chin so that their eyes met. “Listen to me,” he said softly, “I’m not angry with you for coming back. I’m just-”

“What?”

“I wish you had gotten help sooner.”

“I went looking for you,” Maeglin whispered. “When I arrived. Oropher thought I was deserting and had me whipped.”

Glorfindel clenched his jaw. “No one’s going to whip you, Maeglin.”

“If it were you, I might not mind.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “You’re still feverish. Go to sleep.”

* * *

Maeglin seemed to relish the attention he was getting.

Glorfindel found that he couldn’t blame him. After all, when had Maeglin ever gotten any sort of positive attention?

The Avari would sit by the window, watching the bustle of the camp, when Glorfindel wasn’t there. But when Glorfindel was there he made a show of complaining about everything that bothered him.

“My head hurts.”

“You’ve said that already,” Glorfindel reminded him, ignoring where Maeglin was sprawled on the bed. He had a pile of reports he was trying to read, and maps from where they were doing their best to plan their routes home. They were spread across a table, and Glorfindel was seated beside them, studying them by candlelight.

“It’s late,” Maeglin grumbled. “You should sleep.”

“If you’d stop talking, I could be finished sooner.”

For a while it seemed to work, then Maeglin said, “I’m cold.”

“You’re always cold.” As much as he hated to watch Maeglin shiver, there was nothing he could do. Elrond had been clear on that.

But when Glorfindel looked up from his papers, Maeglin was staring at him with pleading eyes. He sighed and grabbed the report he’d been reading, stomping across the room to the bed.

Maeglin leaned into him easily when Glorfindel sat beside him, and he seemed to stop shivering as much. The golden elf tried not to focus on how uncomfortable it was to have Maeglin’s small body pressed against him, instead focusing on the report in his lap.

“Do you hate me?” Maeglin asked.

“No.”

“Then why did you send me away?”

Glorfindel had hoped Maeglin had forgotten about their conversation, that he’d pushed it to the back of his mind as the Golden Elf had tried to.

Clearly it hadn’t worked. “Because I wanted you,” he confessed softly.

Maeglin tilted his head back. “Do you still?” he asked softly.

Glorfindel didn’t trust himself to respond.

“I tried to hate you,” the smaller elf whispered, pushing himself up to meet Glorfindel’s gaze. “I tried so hard. But I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Glorfindel asked.

The smith pulled himself into the other’s lap. “Because I couldn’t blame you.”

Glorfindel tried not to react to the sudden close proximity. He forced his mind to think about anything other than how good it felt to have Maeglin pressed against him.

“I did horrible things,” Maeglin said quietly. “I killed so many people. All because I wanted someone who didn’t want me.”

“That doesn’t excuse what I did,” Glorfindel said, refusing to meet Maeglin’s eyes.

Maeglin turned Glorfindel’s head with a gentle touch. Then he pressed their lips together.

They’d never kissed.

Despite everything they’d done, despite the number of times Glorfindel had taken him - willingly or not - he’d never once kissed him on the lips.

Glorfindel pushed him back. “No,” he said firmly.

“The one time I actually want you-” Maeglin began, irritation clouding hid face.

“You’re still hurt,” he said. It was a lame excuse and they both knew it.

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“Don’t remind me of that!”

For a long moment, they stared at one another in silence. Finally, Glorfindel said, “Once we reach Rivendell, if this is what you want, I will-”

“I won’t be your pity fuck,” Maeglin snarled.

The golden lord ran his hands through his hair. “I want you,” he said pushing Maeglin’s hair from his face. “I truly do. But I need to know that this isn’t-”

“Isn’t what?!”

“Do you remember what you were like?” he demanded. “At the end, you kept trying to seduce me because-”

“Because I was afraid of the alternative! And I still am!” His voice caught, and he murmured, “But this time, the alternative is being alone.”

“You won’t be alone,” Glorfindel whispered. “Come with us to Rivendell. It’s a large settlement. You won’t have to see me-”

“I want to see you,” Maeglin argued, pushing closer. “I promise.”

There was true vulnerability in his eyes, and Glorfindel sighed, wrapping his arms around him. “I do want you,” the blonde confessed. “But not now. Please Maeglin, go to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written a one-shot that tells about his beating from Oropher's army. It's called [Deserter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21965248)


	30. Chapter 30

Without speaking, they seemed to reach a mutual decision not to mention their attraction.

Glorfindel spent his days helping around the camp, and in the evenings he sat with Maeglin. More often than not, Elrond would check on him, although the smith was still weak and he could barely take more than a few steps at a time.

But when pressed, Elrond would only shrug and say, “I’m honestly impressed he’s still alive. I’m not certain what else I can do for him.”

Other than that, there was little the healer seemed to be able to do for Maeglin. He was still cold more often than not, and he would still complain of aches and pains, but Elrond was afraid to give him anything for it.

Glorfindel sat behind Maeglin, rubbing his shoulders gently. “Is this helping?” he asked softly.

“No,” Maeglin grumbled. “But don’t stop.”

He pressed his fingers into the base of Maeglin’s neck and the smith whimpered. “Shhh,” he said, pressing deeper into the tense flesh. “This should help your head.”

He’d complained of his neck hurting before he’d complained about his head, so the best Glorfindel could figure was that the pain had traveled from his shoulders to his head.

“Can’t Elrond give me something?” Maeglin pleaded. “He’s a healer, isn’t he?”

“You’re taking enough as it is, just to heal you from the poison.” They were still giving him dosages of the antidote because his body hadn’t seemed to have fought it all off yet.

Maeglin growled, but said nothing, so they lapsed into silence. Finally, Glorfindel asked, “Do you want to go back to the Sindar?” He couldn’t help but hope that the answer was no, but he felt as though he should offer it anyway. “Thranduil and the last of his men are leaving within the week.”

“No,” Maeglin said quickly. “Don’t make-”

“I’m not going to make you,” Glorfindel promised. He reached up to ruffle Maeglin’s hair. It barely touched his shoulders, which was strange given how traumatized he’d been when Glorfindel had cut it. He made a mental note to ask him about it later.

“Good. Because I would have gone to Elrond if you’d tried.”

“Manipulative brat,” Glorfindel snorted. Then he asked, “Would you like to see them off?”

“No.”

The blonde tilted his head. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Maeglin’s face reddened. “I may have broken a few laws,” he said stiffly.

“What kinds of laws?” he asked hesitantly.

“I was a smith,” he explained. “I wasn’t meant to be in the fighting. In fact, I was ordered to remain in the camp.”

“You’ve never shied from afight.”

“If I go back, I’ll have a term of imprisonment of no less than ten years.”

Glorfindel whistled softly. “You don’t do things in halves, do you little one?”

Maeglin grinned and leaned back into Glorfindel’s chest. “No,” he said smugly. “I don’t.”

He knew he should push him away. There were things to do other than sit and coddle Maeglin, no matter how much he wanted to do that. But he couldn’t bring himself to move, and instead, he wrapped his arms around the other, leaning back against the headboard.

Maeglin tucked into his chest, making himself comfortable.

“Where did you go?” Glorfindel asked finally, a question that had been burning him ever since he’d seen Maeglin in the healing halls.

The smith paused.

“When I freed you, where did you go?”

“Amon Ereb.” Maeglin sat up, looking into Glorfindel’s eyes as though challenging him. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Ask what?”

“If I was at the kinslaying.”

“Were you?”

Maeglin laid back down, hiding his face in Glorfindel’s chest. “No,” he whispered. “I- I tried to stop them.”

“What happened?” Glorfindel asked gently.

It was clear the other didn’t want to talk about it, but after a moment, he whispered, “Should I start at the beginning?”

“If you want.”

He rolled onto his back using Glorfindel as a pillow. “I went south for a few days until I realized I didn’t know where to go. I thought about going back to Balar, but-” A shiver ran through Maeglin. “What would you have done if I did?”

Glorfindel thought for a moment, wrapping his arm around Maeglin to rub his stomach. “I would have made you very miserable, little one,” he said softly. “I needed you to leave - you needed to be free of me - and I would have done whatever it took to accomplish that.” 

“I went east,” Maeglin said, apparently satisfied with Glorfindel’s answer. “I knew I couldn’t live forever on what you’d given me, so I went looking for the only people I thought might take me.”


	31. Flashback -Feanorians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a flashback from Maeglin's POV.
> 
> It takes place shortly after the End of Act One.

Neither of them seemed overjoyed to see him.

“Unhand him,” Maglor said finally, waving away the guards that had caught him. “What is he going to do? Spit at us?” The minstrel was seated on what could perhaps pass for a worn throne. His older brother was nothing more than a silent shadow behind him. The twins were no where to be seen.

His captors let go of Maeglin and left the room, but no one moved to untie him. For a long moment, they sat in silence. Finally, Maeglin said, “I had no where else to go.”

“I do wonder why,” Maglor said dryly. “Oh, wait, perhaps it is because you killed thousands of people?”

“And you haven’t?”

“Personally I’ve only killed thirty-eight.”

“Personally, I’ve killed none.”

Maedhros let out a barking laugh. Maglor turned sharply to look at him, concern etched on his face. For a moment, it seemed the eldest Feanorian was going to speak, but he fell silent again.

“You are a simply horrid guest, do you know that?” Maglor shook his head, returning his gaze to Maeglin. “We will shelter you for the night, but that is all.”

“Please!” Maeglin stumbled forward, falling to his knees in front of Maglor. “Cousin-”

“Don’t you understand?” Maglor demanded. “We are fortunate indeed that Gil-Galad has chosen to ignore us for the time being, but if word got out that we were harboring you-”

“Everyone is too afraid of you!”

Maglor almost looked apologetic. “I cannot take that risk. Don’t you see? We haven’t the strength to fend off the might of Gil-Galad-”

“Please-”

“No. That is my final answer,” Maglor said heavily. He looked truly sorry as he said, “If you keep pestering me, you will leave now.”

* * *

He spent the evening eating everything they would give him and enjoying the warmth of the fire. If he was going to die, he might as well die on with a full stomach.

Once he’d finished the food that had been sent to his room he tucked himself into the bed, wrapping up in the thick furs.

The smith was almost asleep when his door opened.

Maedhros was alone.

Maeglin watched him fearfully as he entered. He’d met the eldest Feanorian only once before, and even though he’d seemed more sane then, he had still been just as terrifying.

“I want to talk,” he said softly. He didn’t meet Maeglin’s eyes, instead looking around the room with tiny, darting glances.

“Of course,” Maeglin mumbled, sitting up. He pulled the blankets more tightly around himself as though they might protect him if Maedhros lashed out.

But the redhead just looked tired. “Did they force you to tell them?” His fist clenched and Maeglin wondered what he would do if he said no.

But he told the truth. “I won’t say I didn’t want what they offered, but in the end, I didn’t give it entirely willingly.”

Maedhros said nothing.

“Please,” Maeglin whispered, deciding it couldn’t hurt to try again. Perhaps Maedhros would be more understanding. “I- I don’t want to endanger anyone, but-”

“My brother is worried about what your presence will do to me,” Maedhros said stiffly. “If he knew I was talking to you, he’d have a conniption.”

“What do you think it will do?”

“At the moment? Nothing.” Maedhros shrugged. “But in the future? I don’t know.” He gave Maeglin an uneasy look. “There is a taint around you,” he said. “I cannot say what is it.”

“There’s a taint around you, too.”

Maedhros gave him a tight lipped smile. “I know,” he said, and strode from the room.

* * *

Maeglin barely slept that night, turning his conversation Maedhros over in his head. Had he said the right thing? Or the wrong thing? Could he have done something else and convinced them to let him stay?

At some point, he managed to fall asleep, but it was short lived, disrupted by strange dreams, and he awoke feeling more exhausted than when he’d fallen asleep.

By the time morning came, he was still wide awake, and when the two youngest Feanorians entered his room, he followed them out glumly.

“Let me talk to your brothers,” he begged. The Ambarussa remained silent. “Please,” he said again. “I- I-”

However, it was clear they were only going to do what they were told. Escort him out and make sure he didn’t come back. He struggled to fight back tears. He hadn’t felt so frightened since Glorfindel had led him to the boat. But this time, there would be no supplies waiting for him it seemed.

But he wasn’t taken outside.

Instead, they led him back to the receiving room where he’d met the elder brothers the day before. Only Maglor was there, and Ambarussa left quickly, leaving the two cousins alone.

“My lord,” he murmured, bowing his head.

Maglor looked exhausted. He was still wearing the same clothes he’d been in the day before, and they were rumbled as though he’d tried to sleep in them.

“Come here, Lomion, I don’t feel like shouting across the room at you.”

Maeglin hurried forward, heart pounding in his chest.

“I went to speak with you last night,” the minstrel confessed.

“I did not-”

“You were already asleep when I arrived.”

Maeglin wanted to scream that Maglor should have woken him up. But he kept his mouth shut, too uneasy about where the conversation was going.

“You talk in your sleep, did you know that?” Maglor sighed. “What happened to you on Balar?”

His mouth was dry. “What did I say?”

“You were begging someone for forgiveness. And then you started saying names. A lot of names.”

“I know the names of one hundred and eighty-five of the people I killed,” Maeglin said softly.

“Why?”

“Glorfindel ordered me to. I was meant to learn them all, but-” he shrugged.

“What else did he do to you?”

“It’s complicated.”

Maglor stood, shoving himself off the ramshackle throne. “Come with me, cousin. Let’s talk.”

He told Maglor everything, or, as much as he was willing to tell him.

They went to the minstrel’s private rooms and Maglor offered him a glass of wine. He turned it down but quickly regretted it.

He told Maglor about the beatings, and he showed him his back and the scars on his foot. He told him about Ministan’s death and being forced to drag him from the water.

But he didn’t tell him about Glorfindel raping him and he didn’t mention Egalmoth at all. He did tell him about the mortals, however, and Maglor winced when he heard what they’d done to him.

When he finished his story, telling Maglor about Glorfindel’s cryptic words when he’d thrown him into the rowboat, they lapsed into silence.

The minstrel sipped his wine, staring into the crackling fire. Maeglin wrapped his arms around himself and tried not to shake.

Finally, he couldn’t take the suspense anymore, “May I stay?”

“Lomion-”

“I will _die_ out there, please let me stay!” He sucked in a deep breath and his voice grew suddenly calm, “give me your sword.”

“What?”

“If you’re going to throw me out, give me a sword to end myself with.” He had the knife from Glorfindel, of course, but that wouldn’t be enough. He’d learned a bit about manipulation from Sauron, and even more from the Lord of the Golden Flower. “Or spare my soul the curse of suicide and kill me yourself.”

“I’m not going to kill-”

“Coward.”

“Are you always such an ungrateful pest?” Maglor demanded, his silver eyes flashing. “I am trying to tell you that you may stay!”

Maeglin had started to sob in relief when he’d said that.


	32. Chapter 32

“What about at the kinslaying?” Glorfindel asked gently.

For a long moment, Maeglin was silent. Then he said, “I- I tried to tell them not to. When I realized I couldn’t stop them, I said I was going to ride ahead and warn the Havens.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Why do you think? They put me in chains.” He didn’t seem overly keen to continue the conversation, and turned his face away, looking out the window and completely ignoring Glorfindel. But the blonde didn’t mind, slipping from the bed and walking from the room.

He found Elrond outside, leaning against a wall, watching as a group of elves walked by leading horses heavy with baggage.

“You knew he was alive,” he accused.

Elrond looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Maeglin? Well, yes, I suspected it.”

“You knew I didn’t kill him. He was at Amon Ereb.”

Elrond leaned his head back against the wall. “He left not long after we arrived. To be honest, Elros and I wondered if Maedhros didn’t kill him. They quarreled almost constantly for the few weeks I knew him.” The healer picked at his nails, a strange habit he’d had for as long as Glorfindel had known him. “Of course, when I asked Maglor years later, he said Maeglin had chosen to leave and had probably fallen in with a group of dwarves. Did he?”

“Join dwarves? I don’t know.”

“Ask him some time, if you don’t mind.”

Glorfindel nodded, leaning against the wall beside Elrond. He couldn’t bring himself to go back inside where Maeglin was no doubt waiting for him, probably ready to demand more attention.

For a long time, they both were silent, then Elrond asked, “What did Egalmoth do to him?”

Glorfindel’s heart skipped a beat.

“I know he did something horrid to him,” the half-elf said. “He was our guard at Sirion, and Maedhros taunted him before he killed him.”

His mouth was dry as he confessed, “He let his dogs rape him.” Even when it had happened, Glorfindel had tried not to think about it. But confessing it to his friend, he felt bile rising in his throat.

Elrond’s horrified face was the final straw, and Glorfindel turned away, vomiting his meager lunch onto the sand. “Tell me you weren’t there-”

“I wasn’t there,” Glorfindel replied, rubbing his sleeve over his mouth. “But I didn’t stop it, so I’m no better than him.”

* * *

Maeglin was asleep by the time Glorfindel returned, after having been taken around the camp for hours by Elrond who had insisted it would do him some good.

The smith looked horribly small, curled into the bed. He was still underweight, and still paler than any elf had any right to be.

Careful not to wake him, Glorfindel perched on the edge of the bed, reaching out to run his fingers through Maeglin’s hair out of habit. Even in sleep, his brow was furrowed and he seemed to lean into the touch.

“Pathetic,” he grumbled, although he wasn’t certain if it was directed at Maeglin or himself.

He swung off the bed, striding toward the window and pulling the curtains shut. He almost missed the whisper of, “I’m sorry.”

Glorfindel turned sharply, startled to see two dark eyes peering back in at him in the darkness.

“Lomion I-”

“I know I’m pathetic,” the smith said, pushing himself up. “I barely take a piss without someone helping me-”

“That’s not true-”

“It was recently enough.”

“Because you were injured!” Glorfindel hurried toward him, sitting on the bed beside him. “Maeglin-”

“Why are you doing this?” Maeglin asked finally, his eyes gleaming. “I keep waiting for it to change, for you to-” he shivered violently, pulling back as Glorfindel reached for his shoulder. “For you to hurt me.”

“I’m not going to.”

“But I want you to.” There were tears in his eyes and disgust written across his face.

Glorfindel pulled back sharply. “Little mole-”

“I want you to take me,” Maeglin said, leaning closer, reaching for Glorfindel desperately. “I want you to fuck me raw and-”

“Enough!” The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower stood, shaking slightly at Maeglin’s revelations. “I will find someone else to take care of you,” he said. “It’s not good for me to be here.”

“But I want-”

“No! Maeglin you don’t want that!”

“Yes, I do!” Maeglin pushed himself to his feet, taking stumbling steps toward Glorfindel. “I want you, you said you wanted me!”

“Not like this!” It was taking all his self-control not to raise his voice. But that wouldn’t help Maeglin and it would just draw unnecessary attention.

“Then how do you want me?” he grabbed Glorfindel’s shirt and - out of fear Maeglin would stumble and fall if he pushed him away - he didn’t move, standing perfectly still.

“Sane!”

“I am sane!” Maeglin’s fingers dug into Glorfindel’s shirt with more force. “I promise, Glorfindel, I am entirely sane.”

Glorfindel gently detached his fingers, leading Maeglin back to the bed. Without thinking, he pulled Maeglin into his lap, stroking one hand through his hair. “I need you to listen to me-”

“I am listening!”

“Hush.” He pressed his finger to Maeglin’s lips. “Let me speak, and then you may speak. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Maeglin grumbled.

“I know you don’t believe me, but you are not well. You are still recovering from having a deadly fever for weeks - some days you still have a fever.” He stroked his hand through Maeglin’s hair. “I broke you,” he told him softly. “You don’t even understand how much I broke you.”

“I deserved it-”

“Damnit Maeglin!” Glorfindel looked away, pain lacing across his face. “This is what I mean. Do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“The first time I tortured you?”

“Vividly.”

“You were a different person until I broke your foot. When I did that-” He swallowed, looking away. “I was a monster to you.”

“He did it,” Maeglin said, sitting across from him. “Sauron. Somehow, I just know it.”

“I asked one of the Maiar what had happened on Balar. He said that there was a taint of Sauron, but that it didn’t cause us to be monsters. All it did was lower our inhibitions.”

“Like alcohol?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Glorfindel replied softly. “But that doesn’t excuse-”

“I murdered thousands of people!” Maeglin almost shouted, raising his voice to make a point, but at a sharp look from Glorfindel, he lowered to a whisper, “We’re both awful people.”

Glorfindel snorted, brushing his hand through Maeglin’s hair. “Perhaps we do deserve each other,” he confessed. “But not now. Not yet.”

“Then when?”

“When we reach Rivendell.”

Maeglin groaned. “When will that be? Next year? Next decade?”

“For an immortal, you are surprisingly impatient.” He sighed, pushing Maeglin off his lap and onto the bed. “Try to sleep,” he said.

“If you’ll sleep with me.”

“I said-”

Maeglin huffed. “Sleep in bed with me,” he said. Then his softened and he whispered, “Please?”

Glorfindel sighed. He knew that he should say no. He absolutely should return to his cot. But he was sick of sleeping on the cot, barely more comfortable than a floor, so he said, “Alright.”


	33. Chapter 33

> “Is this what you wanted?” Glorfindel brushed his hands through Maeglin’s hair, pulling the shivering elf closer.
> 
> “I’m cold,” he whined softly, wrapping his legs around Glorfindel’s waist, pushing closer.
> 
> The golden elf pulled Maeglin closer, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Shhh,” he murmured against his mouth. “Let me warm you up.”
> 
> Hands slipped into Maeglin’s clothes and he shivered at the touch. Yes. This was what he had been begging for.
> 
> Soon he was naked in Glorfindel’s lap, and the golden elf was running his fingers down his chest, tracing his muscles.
> 
> Then he rolled Maeglin off his lap, pushing him into the bed, and landing on top of him. The smith grunted softly.
> 
> “Tell me,” Glorfindel murmured into his ear, pressing kisses into his neck. “When you dreamed of me, was I gentle?”
> 
> “Yes,” he gasped, already feeling himself becoming aroused.
> 
> Glorfindel chuckled. “Have I ever been gentle with you?”
> 
> Maeglin opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, something pressed against his ass.
> 
> “No-” he began, but before he could, Glorfindel pushed inside of him. Something tore.
> 
> He wanted to scream at the sudden and painful intrusion, but Glorfindel slammed his face into the pillows, silencing him.
> 
> “Keep your voice down,” Glorfindel whispered, “We aren’t the only ones here.”
> 
> The blonde began thrusting into him, not stopping when Maeglin tried to struggle away. “This isn’t-”
> 
> “Hush,” Glorfindel snarled, one hand wrapping around the smaller elf’s throat. “If you make any noise I’ll tell the entire camp who you are.”
> 
> “They-”
> 
> “You think people have stopped caring?”
> 
> Maeglin fell silent at the question, letting out pained gasps with each of Glorfindel’s thrusts. “Do you?” Glorfindel pressed, biting his ear. “Tell me, little cripple, what would they do to you if I took you into the camp and announced your identity?”
> 
> “Don’t!” Maeglin gasped, struggling away from him. “Elrond-”
> 
> Glorfindel just snorted, wrapping his arms more tightly around the struggling elf beneath him. “Do you think he gives a damn?” he demanded.
> 
> Each thrust hurt more than the last, and when Glorfindel pulled out of him Maeglin wanted to sob with relief. But his joy was short lived, as Glorfindel rolled him onto his back and pressed the tip of his cock to Maeglin’s lips.
> 
> “Don’t you dare bite,” he snarled.
> 
> Maeglin opened his mouth hesitantly and Glorfindel wasted no time pressing inside. He fucked Maeglin’s mouth as brutally as he had his ass, not caring that Maeglin sobbed and choked around the intrusion.
> 
> At the last minute he pulled out, and finished across Maeglin’s face, his seed mingling with the dark elf’s tears.
> 
> Before Maeglin could compose himself, he was pulled into Glorfindel’s lap. The golden elf lounged against the head board as he took Maeglin’s cock in his hand, stroking him to hardness.“It’s Elrond’s turn,” Glorfindel whispered into his ear. “And after that, there’s a long list of those waiting.”
> 
> “My lord-” his words were cut short as he spilled across Glorfindel’s hand, moaning from his climax despite the pain.
> 
> “This is what you’re meant for,” Glorfindel retorted. Then he lifted his hand to Maeglin’s lips. “Lick me clean.”

Maeglin woke with a gasp, struggling out of bed. He was soaked with sweat, and shaking, but, most humiliatingly, was the stain at the front of his pants.

He groaned in frustration. Wet dreams were one thing, but getting aroused from Glorfindel raping him was another.

But what if that was what he wanted?

The smith shook his head. No. His body was betraying him, just as it had betrayed him with Idril. He didn’t want that. Perhaps he wanted Glorfindel, but not the way he’d seen in the dream.

He checked to make sure there was no stain on the bed, then struggled into another pair of pants. He needed to get out of Glorfindel’s rooms and get his head on straight.

Grabbing his cane, he made for the door.

* * *

Slowly the elves were inching closer toward being ready to leave Mordor, and, like most of them, Glorfindel couldn’t get out of the cursed land soon enough. Let the mortals stay behind in their new kingdom to guard it.

He couldn’t bring himself to care if the mortals all died in the attempt, so long as he returned to Rivendell sooner rather than later.

“It is unbearably hot, do have you noticed?” he asked Elrond, irritation flicking in his eyes.

“I had noticed,” the healer said, offering him a slight smile in reply. “Perhaps that has something to do with the large volcano?” He nodded in the general direction of the mountain.

Glorfindel just stormed off, grumbling under his breath. Of course, Maeglin was still constantly complaining about being cold, which meant that if he returned to his room he would have the smaller elf trying to drape himself over him. While in some cases that would be rather pleasant, it was too hot to even consider it.

So instead of returning to his room, he paced through the camp.

Thankfully there was no shortage of distractions, and Glorfindel readily threw himself into whatever came his way.

Finally, when the sun was just beginning to set, he returned to his room.

But Maeglin wasn’t there.

Glorfindel did a double take, looking around the room in surprise. _Where are you_, he wondered to himself, stepping back into the hallway to look both ways for any sign of the smith.

Nothing.

_Damn it_. So much for a relaxing evening. Rather than settling down in his room with a glass of water - which was what he wanted to do more than anything - he’d need to find Maeglin. Preferably, before the darkness fell.

If day was inhospitably cold in Mordor, the nights were just as bad, but cold instead. Elrond had tried to explain something about it - something about deserts and pressure - but Glorfindel had waved him off. It didn’t matter to him. Nothing could be worse than the Helcaraxe, but Maeglin….

Well, if Maeglin was cold in Glorfindel’s rooms during the day, there was no telling how he would feel at night. But more importantly, there was no telling where he’d wandered off to.

As far as Glorfindel knew Maeglin hadn’t left his room since they’d carried him there while he was unconscious. If he’d ventured out on his own, Glorfindel could only hope he was smart enough to take his cane.

There was no sign of him within the building where Glorfindel’s room was, so he wandered out into the camp, poking his head into the communal areas that he passed.

But still, nothing.

_Brat_.

Finally, he found Maeglin, after asking if anyone had seen an elf with a cane, and following the directions they gave him.

The smith was alone, sitting at the edge of the camp, watching over the desolate lands around them. “Where have you been?” Glorfindel demanded, aghast.

Maeglin didn’t respond, not even as Glorfindel sat beside him and tried to meet his eye. “Are you alright?” he asked hesitantly.

“No,” Maeglin mumbled. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Glorfindel frowned. “Why are you here?”

Maeglin just shrugged. “I’m cold,” was all he would say.

With a sigh, Glorfindel held out his hand. “Let’s get back inside,” was all he said, seeing that the other was hesitant to talk.


	34. Chapter 34

If Maeglin were to make a list of things he expected to find himself doing, having tea with Earendil’s son was so far down the list, he wouldn’t have even considered it.

But Glorfindel had needed to do something - they’d explained, but Maeglin hadn’t been paying attention - and rather than leave him alone, he’d entrusted him to Elrond. The healer had insisted it wasn’t _babysitting_, after a snide remark from Maeglin, but he couldn’t come up with a better name for it.

A part of him had been afraid that the half-elf would want to bond over their shared connection to the Feanorian, but, unfortunately, it seemed the healer was more interested in his connection to Glorfindel. 

“Do you trust him?”

Maeglin raised an eyebrow. “What do you meant?”

Elrond sipped his tea. “I know what he did to you,” he said finally. “Or, at least, I know a great deal of it.”

“Everyone knows he broke my foot and tortured me,” Maeglin retorted.

“But most of them won’t admit he raped you.”

Maeglin fell silent. That had been one thing that hadn’t leaked into the stories about the Balrog Slayer and the Traitor. “How do you know?” he asked finally.

“He got very drunk once, at a party, and started telling me about you. I was, of course, terrified at the time.”

“And you’re not terrified now?”

“I put a great deal of thought into the matter,” Elrond confessed. “But I believe he is wholly a different man. He carries a great deal of guilt.” Quickly he added, “Not that guilt excuses anything.”

“What did he tell you?” Maeglin asked softly.

Elrond frowned, as though he had smelled something unpleasant. “A lot of garbled nonsense, given his inebriated state. I questioned him later and he…. confessed.”

Maeglin stared into his tea, a frown on his face. “A part of me liked it,” he said after a moment. His face flushed red at the confession, but when Elrond didn’t immediately scoff or mock him, he looked up.

The healer was studying him curiously. “I’ve heard of cases where a captive grows feelings for their captor,” he said. “Mostly from mortals, mind you, but a few of the survivors of Angband-”

“Why?”

“I can’t say,” Elrond confessed.

“Can you heal it?”

“I don’t think you’d like my solution.”

“Leave him?”

Elrond nodded.

Maeglin looked away. “He’s different now,” he said slowly. “I’m different.”

“How quickly will you fall back into old habits?”

“Do you think he-”

“I trust Glorfindel implicitly, otherwise this conversation would never have happened, and I would have hidden you far away. The only thing I’m not entirely certain of is you.”

“He wants to help me.”

“He does.” Elrond paused for a moment, waiting to see if Maeglin would speak. When he didn’t, the Lord said, “You’ve been separated for thousands of years, I can honestly say, I do not know what effect that would have on your mental condition.”

Maeglin nodded slowly.

“Would you allow me to look into your mind-”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” Elrond shrugged. “Still, the offer remains.”

Maeglin sat his cup down, drawing his knees up to his chest. “I’m staying,” he said softly.

Elrond nodded. “I won’t stop you. Not as long as I’m certain you’re safe.”

“Thank you.”

Their conversation moved on to more pleasant things, Elrond was more than happy to talk about the city he was building and seemed to want Maeglin’s input on the entire process. The smith enjoyed showing off, readily promising to look over the plans once they returned to the city.

It was almost a disappointment when Glorfindel returned, and Elrond bid them farewell.


	35. Chapter 35

Maeglin was very vocal about not needing to be helped into the saddle, but Glorfindel insisted on it anyway.

The Golden Lord helped him up, then stood beside his horse as he steadied himself, wincing slightly as his wounds flared. “I’m fine,” he said when Glorfindel reached for him.

They were finally leaving Mordor, and Maeglin couldn’t wait to put the accursed land behind him. Everyone else seemed to be in agreement.

Glorfindel and Elrond rode on either side of him, trying their hardest not to look as though they were watching him, but Maeglin could feel their eyes on him. He kept his back straight and refused to show any sign of weakness.

Neither of them had wanted him to ride by himself, saying that they preferred for him to ride in a wagon or with one of them, but he’d flat out refused, threatening to walk instead. Of course, now that he was in the saddle, he was beginning to regret his decision.

But he wasn’t about to admit that.

Instead, he suffered in silence, trying not to think about the growing pain in his stomach from sitting up straight, or his creeping exhaustion, or the fact that he was still, in spite of the hot climate, freezing cold.

By the time they made camp, he almost couldn’t climb out of the saddle.

Glorfindel was at his side in a heartbeat, grabbing him and helping him down, rubbing a soothing hand over his back. “What hurts?” he asked.

Elrond seemed to materialize on the other side of him, running an appraising eye over Maeglin, a frown on his face.

“I’ll ride with you tomorrow,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now I want to sleep.”

“Alright,” Glorfindel agreed readily, rubbing his back and helping him to take his cane. “I’ll set up our tent.”

He didn’t miss Glorfindel passing a coin to Elrond before the healer disappeared again. “The hell was that?” he snarled.

“I bet him you wouldn’t make it past midday.”

“I hate you.”

Glorfindel only laughed.

Maeglin sat on a rock as he set up the tent, watching people walk by, barely sparing him a glance. “Who do they think I am?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue.”

“What are you going to tell them in Rivendell?”

“The truth, if they ask.”

“Is that a good idea?”

Glorfindel shrugged, stepping back to give the tent one last look before declaring it finished. “Elrond has made it clear from the beginning that all are welcome in Rivendell, so long as they’ve renounced any crimes and don’t commit any new ones.”

“He wants the Feanorian.”

“Yes.”

Maglor pushed himself to his feet, limping into the tent and collapsing on the ground, not even waiting for a bedroll. “Which of us is worse? Me or him?”

Glorfindel tossed a bedroll on the ground beside him, studying his face curiously. “Him,” he said finally.

“Why?”

“Because he has always annoyed me.”

Maeglin snorted.

Glorfindel laid out the bedroll, then helped him stretch out on it. “How’s your leg?” he asked.

“The same as the rest of me.”

“I’ll see if Elrond has anything for you.”

Maeglin nodded, closing his eyes and laying his hand over his face. “I hate this place,” he complained.

“So do I.”

Glorfindel ducked out of the tent, leaving Maeglin by himself. The smith dozed off to sleep, waking only as Glorfindel returned, passing him a plate of food. “Eat up.”

“Elrond-”

“He sent something, but you need to eat first.”

Maeglin groaned and rolled onto his stomach, pulling the plate closer so that he could eat without sitting up.

“But he said you have to promise to listen to him, next time he gives you advice about your health.”

Maeglin froze, then looked up at Glorfindel, a scowl on his face. “This was a lesson?” he demanded.

“You learned, didn’t you?”

He scooted over so that he could face away from Glorfindel, shoving the dried meat into his mouth. A moment later, he felt Glorfindel stretch out beside him.

“Go away.”

“Maeglin,” he murmured, rubbing his back with one hand. Unable to help himself, Maeglin leaned into the touch. “We wouldn’t have let you get hurt. But if we’d tried to stop you, you would have done something foolish. You made that very clear.”

“Keep rubbing,” was all Maeglin would say.

Glorfindel continued to rub gently at his shoulders as he ate, and once he’d finished, he pushed the plate away, then gave him the herbs from Elrond.

Once he’d taken them, he pulled Maeglin closer. He straddled the smith’s legs, pressing his fingers into his back, drawing gasps of pain from Maeglin.

“Is this helping?” he asked.

Maeglin nodded, pushing back into the massages. “Would you rather ride with me or in a wagon?” he asked softly.

The smith didn’t hesitate. “You.”

Glorfindel nodded. “You must promise to tell me if it becomes too much. There’s no shame in riding in a wagon.”

“I promise,” Maeglin replied. He was already struggling to keep his eyes open, and grumbled, “Did Elrond give me something for sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Damn it.”

“It will also help your muscles relax.”

“This is helping my muscles,” Maeglin retorted, pushing into Glorfindel’s touches.

The lord chuckled, pressing a kiss to the back of Maeglin’s head. “Sleep well,” he murmured.

* * *

Maeglin barely stirred when Glorfindel tried to wake him the next morning, and eventually he left him to sleep, leaning against the rock he’d occupied the day before as he tore down the tent. Once it was time to go, he helped Maeglin to his feet, half carrying him to the horse and lifting him into the saddle. Then he jumped up behind him, and Maeglin immediately fell asleep again.

“How much did you give him?” he asked Elrond as the healer rode up beside him.

“A fair amount,” was all Elrond would say.

“A fair amount?” Glorfindel demanded. He shook his head. “How long will he sleep for?”

“A while yet.”

Maeglin dozed most of the day, not seeming to truly wake up until well past noon. “Where am I?” he mumbled.

“Someone near the edge of Mordor,” Glorfindel replied.

“Huh.”

The landscape was slow to change, and over the days that followed, Maeglin dozed often, even without being drugged. Some days he rode in a wagon, but he was happiest with on a horse, even if it meant doubling up with Glorfindel.

They passed the time in relative silence, no conversation that they would want to have was suitable for anyone else’s ears, so even when he was awake, Maeglin wasn’t the most entertaining of companions.

But Glorfindel didn’t hold it against him, and talked enough for the both of them, filling Maeglin in on his life since they’d last seen one another.

In the evenings, Maeglin would flop out in their tent dramatically and complain about aches and pains until Glorfindel gave in and rubbed his back. Then he’d eventually fall silent and they would both drift off to sleep.

It was a horribly boring way to live.

Eventually, after much coaxing and no small amount of bribing, Glorfindel convinced Maeglin to join the rest of the travelers at the fire. Maeglin stomped out, took one look at the men around the fire, and asked, “Where’s Elrond?”

Glorfindel shrugged. “Off with Lady Celebrian, most likely.”

“Who?”

“Galadriel’s daughter.”

Maeglin had fled back to the tent at that. Glorfindel shook his head and followed after him. “What are you doing?” he demanded, crouching down and pulling the blanket off Maeglin’s head.

“I don’t like her.”

“Have you met?”

“She found me in Oropher’s Court.”

“You’re afraid of Lady Celebrian?” he asked in disbelief, shaking his head.

Maeglin sat up. “What? No! It’s her mother I’d prefer to avoid.”

Glorfindel snorted. “I can’t say I blame you,” he confessed. “But if Lady Galadriel wishes to see you, this tent won’t stop her.”

Maeglin frowned. “I suppose,” he grumbled. Then he flopped back down, stretching out on his back. “I’m tired,” he announced. “I’ll go to the fire tomorrow.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of OC names that I got from a "Tolkien Name Generator." I'll list the meanings below:
> 
> Gwilithon  
(Gwilith (Air) + on (Male))
> 
> Gwedhron  
(Gwedh (To Bind) + ron (Male))
> 
> Riston  
(Rista (To Rend/Rip/Cut/Cleave) + on (Male))
> 
> Aglarchon  
(Aglar (Glory/Brilliance) + hawn (Brother))

True to his word, Maeglin did eventually join them at the fire.

He didn’t speak, preferring instead to sit in silence and watch them, but the fact that he had made something of an attempt was enough to cheer Glorfindel.

No one questioned who he was - several of them had made friends (platonic or otherwise) during the fighting, and more than a few had elected to join them. Maeglin only stood out because of his Avarin features, since most of his people had died off during the First Age. But even that, most just ignored.

Glorfindel had given him everyone’s names, pointing them all out, when Maeglin had first sat down. None had asked Maeglin’s name, so it hadn’t been volunteered.

His eyes stayed fixed on Glorfindel, barely even looking at his own meal. “Come now,” said Gwilithon, dropping himself onto the rock Maeglin had sat on and wrapping his arm around him. “Tell us about yourself.”

“Go kiss an orc,” Maeglin replied.

Glorfindel snorted.

“Is he always this friendly?” Gwilithon asked, leaning his head against Maeglin’s and smiling.

“He’s usually in a much worse mood,” Glorfindel replied.

Across the fire, Gwedhron looked up with interest. “Does he have a name, or…?”

“No,” said Glorfindel. Unfortunately, Maeglin answered at the exact same time, spitting out the first thing that came to mind, “Minastan.”

Even in the firelight, he could see that Glorfindel had gone pale. Riston, whom Maeglin had taken an immediate dislike to, drawled, “I thought his name was Erestor.”

“It is,” Glorfindel said, turning to give the guard a quick smile. “He’s only being petulant and making up names.”

“I enjoy linguists,” Maeglin replied evenly, hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

Thankfully, his pitiful attempt at making conversation was soon forgotten, and the conversation moved on to other things. He wasted no time in hurrying to his feet, muttering a farewell, and limping back to the tent.

He was lying on his back, his hand over his eyes, when Glorfindel finally returned. “Who the hell is Erestor?” Maeglin asked.

“You.”

The smith sat up, narrowing his eyes. “_Lonely brother_?” he demanded. “What kind of a name is that?”

“Don’t look at me,” Glorfindel said, holding up his hands as though to placate the elf. “Elrond choose it.”

“I pray he never has any children to inflict his terrible naming abilities on, then,” Maeglin growled.

“He’s been nothing but kind to you-”

“He doesn’t get to name me.” Maeglin folded his arms over his chest. “I’ve had enough horrid names inflicted on me, I don’t need another.” He pushed himself to his feet, stumbling to the tent flap. When Glorfindel made to follow him, he snarled, “I don’t need an escort to piss.”

He had half a mind to go and find Elrond and yell at him, and was tipsy enough from the alcohol he’d had at dinner to at least partially follow through on that. But when he found the half-elf, he wasn’t alone. There was a silver-haired woman with him, and Maeglin didn’t need any help to guess who she might be. Instead, he turned on his heel and stomped back to their tent, missing when Celebrian stared after him curiously.

* * *

Maeglin’s irritation didn’t improve overnight, and he scrambled into a wagon before Glorfindel could try to help him onto his horse. When the wagon driver asked his name, Maelgin replied Aglarchon and glared at Glorfindel, as though daring him to challenge it.

When they made camp that evening, after the sun had already fallen, Glorfindel was nowhere in sight. Maeglin growled and swung himself out of the wagon, giving a nod to the driver, and stomping into the camp. His leg was paining him more than he’d care to admit, not appreciating the days of travel and sleeping on the hard ground.

By the time he located Glorfindel, he could barely keep his feet under himself and didn’t bother to notice that he had company with him already.

“Where have you been?” he snarled, reaching Glorfindel’s side.

Glorfindel barely reacted to his irritated arrival, instead gesturing to the woman beside him. “This is Lady Celebrian,” he said softly. “My Lady this is Er-”

“Maeglin,” she said warming, grasping her hand in his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you finally, I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“From who?” Glorfindel asked hesitantly.

“Oh Elrond,” she said breezily, waving over her shoulder in the direction she’d come from. “He’s always changing the subject, but I managed to get a bit of information out of him.”

“Tell him I hate the name Erestor,” Maeglin muttered, giving Glorfindel a dark look.

“Tell him Maeglin hates most everything right now.” Glorfindel elbowed him playfully, nearly knocking Maeglin’s feet out from under him. He dropped his voice and murmured, “The tent’s over there.”

Maeglin nodded, tersely bid Celebrian farewell, and stomped away.

He found the tent easily enough - it had a large golden flower painted on the front of it - and crawled inside, sprawling out on Glorfindel’s bedroll since he was too lazy to pack his own.

The lord of the Golden Flower arrived sometime later, when Maeglin was already asleep. He took one look at his bedroll’s occupant, decided it wasn’t worth arguing, and stretched out beside him, letting Maeglin curl into his side and brushing his fingers through his hair.

“You never had supper,” he said as the smith stirred.

“Not hungry,” Maeglin replied.

“Please?”

The dark elf growled softly, moving as though he was trying to roll away from Glorfindel. “Make me.”

Glorfindel wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him back and into his lap. “Perhaps I should,” he whispered, his lips against Maeglin’s ear.

It was taking all of Maeglin’s concentration not to curl into him, too busy reminding himself that he was supposed to be angry at Glorfindel. But he was unable to resist, and wrapped his legs around the other’s waist. “Try,” he challenged.

Glorfindel’s eyes raked over him, debating. He held out a bit of dried meat, pressing it to Maeglin’s lips. “Eat.”

Maeglin shook his head, refusing to open his mouth.

The golden-haired elf pressed a kiss to Maeglin’s cheek. “Perhaps I’ll let you starve after all,” he whispered. “How long would it take you to beg?”

A cold feeling ran through Maeglin’s spine, but a glance into Glorfindel’s eyes assured him it was only a joke. “I don’t beg,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Only for my bed, it seems.”

His face grew hot at the reminder. “I-” but he couldn’t think of a rebuke. Instead, he pressed his lips against Glorfindel’s.

The blonde seemed startled, but then kissed back, knotting his hands in Maeglin’s dark hair.

Then he froze.

Before Maeglin could think to stop him he was pulling away. “I already said no,” he said softly, looking away.

“Glor-”

“Please Maeglin. Just eat and go to bed.”

Then Glorfindel grabbed the other mat, threw it on the ground, and stretched out on it.

Maeglin swallowed and looked at the food Glorfindel had left. It didn’t look particularly appetizing, but if it would appease the other…..

He sighed and ate it.

When he was done, he joined Glorfindel on the other cot. “I’m cold,” he lied, curling into his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erestor means “Lonely Brother” but that could be wrong because I had to dig wayyyy too far into the internet to find that. http://www.glyphweb.com/arda/e/erestor.php


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you have been waiting for this chapter for a very long time.
> 
> Merry Christmas.

The days melted into weeks, and yet they seemed to be no closer to their destination.

Maeglin grew steadily more miserable and stiff until Elrond was forced to give him muscle relaxants lest his foot stiffen completely. He usually rode with Glorfindel, although sometimes he would ride in one of the wagons.

One day it was Elrond who helped him out of the wagon, one hand on his shoulder. “How are you?” he asked gently.

“It hurts,” was all Maeglin would say. In ordinary circumstances, he would have been horribly distressed to let Elrond see his weakness, but he was in too much pain to care.

Elrond squeezed his shoulder. “Glorfindel’s taking care of an orc sighting, he’ll be back soon.”

“When will I heal?”

“I can’t say,” Elrond confessed after a pause. “You nearly died. Some people never fully recover-”

Maeglin’s hand shot out, wrapping around Elrond’s neck. “I’m not an invalid! I won’t be!”

“Lomion,” the healer said gently. “Let go of me before someone sees.”

Maeglin’s hand dropped from his neck and he looked away, mumbling an apology under his breath. Elrond barely seemed to have noticed, still helping Maeglin limp through the camp. “I wouldn’t say it makes you an invalid,” he said softly. “In truth, your body and your soul have been through a great deal. Having survived it makes you quite unusual.”

“Thank you,” Maeglin grumbled, although his tone made it clear he didn’t mean it. “Why are you so nice to me?”

“I see no reason not to be.”

“I tried to kill your father.”

“So have a few other people I’m rather fond of.”

Maeglin didn’t have a reply to that.

Someone else - no doubt under Elrond’s orders - had set up the tent, so he limped in and sprawled out on the bedroll, waving away offers of food. “I’ll eat with Glorfindel,” he promised.

Elrond didn’t seem to believe him, but he ducked out anyway.

* * *

Glorfindel felt awful about leaving Maeglin with no warning, and had no doubt he would get an earful about it from the elf, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to leave the orcs to anyone else.

Once the creatures were dead - and he prayed they were the last of the stragglers of Sauron’s forces - he made his way back to camp. He got food for both of them, having no doubt Maeglin hadn’t eaten, and ducked into their tent.

The smith was toying with something from his bag, which he put aside when Glorfindel entered. After handing the smith his meal, he picked up the trinket. “What is it?” he asked.

“A puzzle,” Maeglin said, digging into the rations.

“How does it work?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a puzzle.” Maeglin licked his lips, clearly enjoying his supper, then said, “Keep it. I already solved it.”

Glorfindel nodded thoughtfully, pocketing the puzzle and making a mental note to return to it later. “How do you feel?”

“Elrond gave me something for the pain.”

“Does it help?”

“I think.” Maeglin’s body language said otherwise. He was clearly stiff as he struggled to lay down after eating, and he winced every time his leg moved. Glorfindel sat his meal aside and slid closer to Maeglin. “Lay on your stomach,” he murmured.

Maeglin rolled over willingly, and let Glorfindel rub at his shoulders. “Leg,” he said softly. “My leg.”

Glorfindel’s hands moved downward. He started at Maeglin’s upper thigh and moved downward slowly, rubbing the muscles and rotating the joints until he reached his foot.

He carefully removed Maeglin’s boot and sock, noting the hitch in his breathing from the discomfort, and carefully studied his foot. It was twisted slightly, the bones having never set correctly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Maeglin rolled over. “I don’t want your pity,” he sneered.

“I can’t help it,” Glorfindel said. “Do you understand why-”

“Why you can’t have a relationship with me?”

“I don’t want you to ever-” But Maeglin had sat up, pressing his lips to Glorfindel’s and pulling the Golden Elf down on top of him. “Fuck me, damn it.”

“No-”

“It’s my turn to make demands,” Maeglin hissed. “Didn’t you fuck me enough when I begged you not to? Can’t you take me this once when I’m begging you to?”

Glorfindel kissed Maeglin in return, pulling away to murmur, “Once we reach Rivendell-”

“Damn you.”

“Will you listen to my reasons?”

He half expected Maeglin to crawl out from under him, but the elf remained, instead grumbling, “I already have, haven’t I?”

“I have a very nice bed,” Glorfindel said, rolling over so that Maeglin was on top of him. “And I think you’d look rather beautiful in it-”

Maeglin rolled his eyes and let out a strangled grunt. “You can enjoy that after-” He straddled Glorfindel’s stomach as the golden elf laid on his back, running his hands down the larger’s elf’s chest, playing with the buttons on his tunic.

Glorfindel brushes his hands away. “And we both reek of horses and sweat, which is not a pleasant smell at all.”

“These aren’t your usual excuses.”

“No, they’re not.” He pushed Maeglin’s short hair out of his face with a sigh. “I’ve given up talking either of us out of this.”

“We’re both damned anyway.”

“We are.”

Maeglin laid out on top of him, resting his head on his chest where he could listen to his heartbeat. “Does Rivendell have a nice forge?”

“We do.”

“What about the Forge master?”

“What about him?”

Maeglin grinned, glancing up at Glorfindel. “I’m debating if I can take over.”

Glorfindel snorted. “Well, fortunately for you, the position is currently vacant-”

“Good.”

“Since the last forge master was killed in the war.”

“His loss.”

He swatted Maeglin’s ass. “Shame on you.”

Maeglin’s grin only grew. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing you want,” Glorfindel replied, ruffling his hair. “I’ll talk to Elrond about the position. I doubt he has a candidate in mind.”

“If he does, remind him that I’m better.”

“Spoiled brat.”

* * *

Maeglin’s mood was lifted by their conversation, and it carried through the next few days. Even though he was clearly in pain he only complained enough to get Glorfindel to massage him, other than that he bore it in silence.

Then it started to rain.

“I hate rain,” Maeglin grumbled on the third day of the wet weather. “I’m going to turn into a fish.”

“No, you won’t,” Glorfindel promised. He was far wetter than Maeglin, since the smaller elf had opted to sit behind him in the saddle and pull Glorfindel’s cloak over himself. 

Maeglin reached down and rubbed his leg, wincing. “It doesn’t help my foot,” he complained.

“Take off your boot.”

“That will make it worse. I’ve tried.” He wrapped his arms around Glorfindel’s chest again, hunching to stay under the cloak. “Elrond’s in a foul mood,” he said.

“We left the party from Lorien,” Glorfindel explained.

“Why didn’t she just come with us, then?”

“They’re not officially courting, and besides, Elrond hasn’t even told her-”

“She’s not dumb.”

Glorfindel chuckled. “They say love makes you a fool, but it only seems to have affected one of them.”

Maeglin was quiet for a moment, then whispered, “Are we in love?”

“We’re certainly fools.”

By the time they made camp it had begun to thunder, and they stopped in a copse of trees, tucking the tents and horses under the branches for safekeeping.

Maeglin sat in the tent and stripped out of his wet clothes, hanging them over a support to dry. “I hate the rain,” he grumbled once again.

“I know,” Glorfindel said, hanging his clothes by Maeglin’s before pulling on a fresh set. He turned his back on the smith, trying to keep from eyeing his nude body, but to his surprise, Maeglin merely changed into a dry set of clothes and stretched out on his back.

“It makes my muscles ache,” he said.

Glorfindel rubbed his back slowly, then worked his way down Maeglin’s leg. The smith was unusually quiet as he massaged him, letting him work out the kinks in the muscles.

“What’s troubling you?” he asked softly.

“Nothing.”

“I know it’s not nothing.” Glorfindel pulled Maeglin into his arms, rubbing his back and rocking him. “You can tell me.”

“I’m tired of being in pain.”

Guilt stabbed Glorfindel’s heart and he pulled Maeglin tighter, knowing that apologizing again would only aggravate the smith. “What can I do?”

“Kiss me.”

It was an offer he couldn’t refuse. He pulled tangled his hands in Maeglin’s hair and pressed their lips together. His hand trailed down Maeglin’s back, moving to cup his ass, then, without thinking, he slipped it into Maeglin’s trousers.

The smith moaned and rocked forward, his hands sliding down Glorfindel’s chest to paw at his crotch. Logic told him to push Maeglin away, but his hands betrayed him, raking his nails over the smith’s toned ass, one finger rubbing over his anus.

Maeglin threw his head back and Glorfindel wasted no time in burying his face in his neck, languishing him in kisses.

“You said this wouldn’t happen until we reached Rivendell,” Maeglin murmured.

“I changed my mind,” Glorfindel replied, his voice deep with desire.

Maeglin nodded. “What if someone-”

“You’ll have to keep quiet. Can you do that?”

The smith nodded quickly. Neither of them undressed all the way, only shucking off their pants. Before Maeglin could say another word, Glorfindel lowered his head and took him into his mouth.

A low moan rewarded him. Glorfindel gave him a warning look and Maeglin managed to look apologetic. He kept his gasps to a minimum as Glorfindel pleasured him, licking up and down his cock, but after only a short time he reached out and stopped Glorfindel.

“I want you in me,” he said.

Glorfindel frowned. “You’re certain?”

“If you don’t stop asking if I’m certain, I’ll find someone else to fuck me,” was the irritated reply.

Glorfindel reached for his pack, fumbling inside it with one hand until he found a vial of oil that was meant for chapped hands. He pulled the stopped out with his teeth.

On the ground in front of him, Maeglin spread his legs, exposing his ass for Glorfindel. He poured oil over him, then made certain his finger was coated before pressing it to Maeglin’s anus.

Maeglin stiffened.

“Are you-”

“Keep going.”

He carefully added a second finger, watching for any sign of discomfort on the other’s face. “Maeglin,” he said softly. “Do you want me to be gentle or rough?”

A grin spread across the smith’s face. “I want to feel this tomorrow.”

Glorfindel didn’t need to be told twice. He finished stretching Maeglin, then pressed inside of him. When the smaller elf let out a moan, he placed his hand over his mouth. “Shhh.”

But the sounds of the thunderstorm around them were louder than either of them.

He pulled back and then thrust into Maeglin who, again, groaned. “Am I going to have to gag you?” he whispered, his voice dropping.

Maeglin nodded.

“Oh but you’d enjoy that too much, wouldn’t you?” He licked Maeglin’s ear, working his way down his pale neck.

When he pulled out, Maeglin gasped, “Glorfindel!”

“Roll over and press your face into the bed,” was all he said.

Maeglin did as he was told, raising his ass into the air tantalizingly. It didn’t take much to get Glorfindel’s attention, and he pushed back inside, plowing Maeglin into the ground.

As he thrust he sunk he pressed soft kisses up Maeglin’s neck, bringing one hand down to stroke his lover’s cock. “Quiet,” he murmured as Maeglin grunted.

He finished first, ejaculating into Maeglin. Before the other could join him in his climax, he pulled out, then rolled Maeglin over and took him back in his mouth, drinking down his cum. The less bodily fluids they left, the less likely anyone would be to notice.

Glorfindel sat up, licking his lips. “Was that enough for you?” he asked, a smile on his face.

“For now.”

“Impertinent brat,” he mumbled, shoving Maeglin playfully. “I ought to turn you over my knee.”

“You should,” Maeglin agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I’m almost done with this “story.” 
> 
> The main part will be over when they reach Rivendell (in a few chapters) but then I will be posting related one-shots and short stories from time to time, which is why I made a series called [Dark Flames](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579285). So feel free to bookmark/follow that if you’re so inclined. It will include some stuff in the future (after the end of this story) and some flashbacks to Maeglin and Glorfindel’s separation.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main story is over, now that they’ve reached Rivendell. 
> 
> I may still write some one-shots, however, which is why I’ve created a series grouping to put them in. It’s titled “Dark Flames.”

Maeglin could barely sit on the saddle the next day. He leaned into Glorfindel, grumbling under his breath and pretending to be upset.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” Glorfindel scolded quietly. “And don’t be so obvious. Someone will notice.”

“Perhaps I want everyone to notice,” he retorted.

“Not if you want me to do it again.”

“Are you ashamed of me?”

“Not at all,” Glorfindel promised. “I’m simply not voyeuristic.”

The rain had finally let up sometime during the night, but the roads were still horribly muddy, which slowed their progress. By the time they stopped to rest, the smith was in a horrible mood, and he refused to be cheered, even when Glorfindel lifted him out of the saddle and carried him to the tent.

“I hate this,” he complained, sitting on the bedroll and glaring at the ceiling. “I should be able to walk without worrying about my cane sticking in the mud!”

“You should,” Glorfindel agreed, sitting beside and wrapping an arm around him. “And I intend to make that up to you a thousand times over.”

“How?” Maeglin asked darkly.

“How would you like me to?”

Maeglin considered making him suck him off, but shook his head. He was too tired and cold and wet to properly enjoy it. “I’ll let you know when I decide,” he grumbled.

It took two days before he decided, announcing in the evening, “I know what I want.”

Glorfindel paused, giving Maeglin a curious glance. “And what’s that?” he asked.

“To pretend we haven’t met.”

He couldn’t ignore the way his heart twisted at Maeglin’s words, but only a second later Maeglin explained, “I want to start over, get to know you. So we’re on more even footing.”

“I see,” he lied.

“When we reach Rivendell, I’ll pretend you’ve never met me,” Maeglin said softly. “So we can relearn each other as equals.”

Glorfindel could see the logic in it, and he nodded. “Very well,” he agreed.

* * *

Maeglin was sleeping when they reached Rivendell. He was sitting on the saddle in front of Glorfindel, leaned against the warrior and snoring quietly.

“We’re here,” Glorfindel murmured into his ear.

Maeglin sat up, blinking. He cast a curious glance around the valley, watching as the elves rushed this way and that, unpacking their mounts, laughing in the relief that they were home.

“It’s small,” was all he said.

Glorfindel snorted and helped him out of the saddle. He showed Maeglin to an empty room. “Once everyone is settled in, we’ll find you a better one,” he promised before leaving him.

He returned to his own rooms, grateful for the peace and quiet, and began unpacking. A part of him felt guilty for abandoning Maeglin, but he reminded himself that Maeglin was an adult who’d spent more than enough years on his own. He could manage a few hours alone.

Or not.

A knock sounded on his door. When he opened it, he wasn’t surprised to see Maeglin was standing there.

The smith seemed uneasy, shifting slightly from one foot to another. “Yes?” Glorfindel asked.

“I-” Maeglin swallowed. “My room is around the corner.”

“Good.”

“I don’t want it.”

Glorfindel tried to hide his disappointment. “We can find you another room-”

“I want to stay with you.”

Glorfindel’s rooms were more than spacious enough. He had his own hallway, practically his own building, with a bedroom, a study, a bathing chamber, and even a small kitchen.

He placed his finger under Maeglin’s chin, tilting his head up. “What if I don’t want you?”

For a moment, Maeglin looked heartbroken, then he seemed to recognize the mischievous look on Glorfindel’s face. “Perhaps I could persuade you?”

Glorfindel stepped backward, into his rooms, letting Maeglin follow after him. He shut the door behind them, so that they didn’t give a show to anyone who happened to be walking by. “And how do you intend to do that, little mole?”

“What would my lord like?”

“Strip.”

Maeglin shrugged out of his clothes readily, dropping them into a pile on the ground. It was the first time he’d seen him fully naked since they’d been reunited. He took a moment to circle around him, looking up and down his body.

Most of his scars had healed, and those that remained Glorfindel didn’t recognize. None of the one’s he’d given him were still marring his flesh, and he felt a surge of relief that the map he’s carved into Maeglin’s skin was gone.

“You’re filthy,” he said softly.

“So are you.”

“I have a rather nice tub.”

He didn’t have to make the offer twice, Maeglin was more than happy to crawl into the bathtub, even before he’d finished filling it, stretching out in the deep water. “Join me,” he begged.

Glorfindel stepped in, sitting beside him. When Maeglin reached for a towel, he pulled it away, “Let me,” he said softly.

He washed Maeglin and the smith gave into the ministrations easily enough. As he rubbed the cloth over his bare skin, he questioned him about the marks on his body.

“What is this from?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over a scar on Maeglin’s leg.

“I dropped a hot poker.”

When Glorfindel touched a spot on his inner thigh, Maeglin blushed. “I found another lover,” he mumbled.

“Oh?” Glorfindel cocked an eyebrow. “Should I be jealous?”

“I told him I liked rough sex, but he took it too far. He wouldn’t stop when I told him to. We ended up fighting.”

Glorfindel grit his teeth. “Should I find him?”

Maeglin snorted. “No, Glor.”

He found another scar - a long line, thin line - on Maeglin’s shoulder, and pressed a kiss to it. “This one?”

“I was whipped for attempted desertion, remember?”

But when he touched a scar on his ankle, Maeglin flinched. “What is it?” Glorfindel asked, concern knotting his brow.

Maeglin looked away, his face twisting. “I found someone who claimed they would be able to heal my foot,” he said slowly. “But they made it worse.”

“Are they still alive?”

Maeglin smiled, giving Glorfindel a sideways glance. “Why?” he asked, leaning forward with a playful expression.

“Well, I’m very, very good at making people apologetic,” Glorfindel replied, pulling Maeglin into his lap.

“You are,” Maeglin agreed, laying his head on Glorfindel’s shoulder. He was silent for a moment, simply enjoying the warm water, then he said, “It took me years to be able to bathe again.”

Glorfindel stilled, his heart twisting uncomfortably.

“I hated the water. I wanted nothing to do with it. Kanafinwe used to argue with me, tell me I smelled like an orc.”

“How did you overcome it?” Glorfindel asked softly.

Maeglin snorted. “I was tired of Maitimo dragging me outside and throwing me in the stream. So I learned to take baths.”

Glorfindel pulled him closer, rubbing Maeglin’s back. “I can’t undo what I’ve done to you-”

“And I can’t undo what I did.” Maeglin let out a soft sigh. “I deserved it-”

“No! You deserved a punishment, yes, I won’t deny that, but Maeglin I-”

Maeglin kissed him.

Glorfindel returned it for a moment before he pulled back. “This doesn’t solve things,” he said, trying to force his voice to be stern. “This-”

“This makes things more interesting,” Maeglin replied. “And far more bearable.” The smith looked up at him, a ghost of a smile on this face. “I do want this, even if we’re starting over tomorrow and pretending we’ve not met.”

He reached over the edge of the tub, then handed something to Glorfindel. The golden lord chuckled when he saw the vial of bath oil in his hands.

“Slut,” he teased. “I thought we were starting over and pretending we hadn’t met.”

“We are,” Maeglin said with a grin. “But first, I demand one last good fuck.”

“If you’re planning to live with me, how will not knowing each other work?” Glorfindel asked slipping his hands into the water to grope Maeglin’s ass.

The smith moaned and pressed into Glorfindel. “Damn it, I don’t know,” he complained. “Shut up and fuck me already.”

“As you wish,” Glorfindel chuckled.


End file.
